Of Genius and Gentility
by aMUSEment345
Summary: The last thing Rossi had bought on for, when he'd returned from retirement, was the mentoring of an FBI oddball, a freak of nature, a socially inept, brilliantly gifted, geek. Nerd. Dork. "Nope, not for me. He's somebody else's problem." Until the book project. Set in Season Five.
1. Chapter 1

The last thing Rossi had bought on for, when he'd returned from retirement, was the mentoring of an FBI oddball, a freak of nature, a socially inept, brilliantly gifted, geek. Nerd. Dork. "Nope, not for me. He's somebody else's problem." Until the book project. Set in Season Five.

 _ **A.N. Based on an idea posted on one of the CM forums.**_

* * *

 **Of Genius and Gentility**

"What are you doing?"

Reid had been passing by Rossi's office on the way to scarfing some of Garcia's chocolate chip cookies when he noticed the senior profiler sitting behind an uncharacteristically chaotic desk. There were papers strewn _everywhere_ , on the glistening wooden surface of Rossi's workspace, on the carpeted floor….even on top of the new suede carrying case the BAU founder valued so much.

"Editing." The word might as well have carried barbs, it was delivered so sharply.

Reid picked up on Rossi's degree of annoyance….but it didn't serve to deter him. "Don't you have someone who does that for you….like an _editor_?"

Rossi pounded a few keys, then resumed the murderous look he'd been sending toward the monitor.

"My editor tells me I have to appeal to a younger audience. She gave me the breaking news that 'times have changed, people expect a different kind of presentation'. I don't know why she's handling me, if she doesn't get what I write."

Reid was about to sympathize, but never got the chance. Rossi turned to him abruptly, the light of an idea in his eyes.

"Hey, wait a minute. _You're_ young. You're part of this younger generation she wants me to appeal to." He studied his younger colleague for a few seconds, pondering. Then, decided, said, "Spencer, why don't you write this one with me?"

He had unwittingly precipitated a rare moment of speechlessness in the young genius. Reid's mouth opened and closed twice, without emitting a sound.

"Spencer? Oh, Spen-cer…" Singing it at him, waving his hand in front of the seemingly transfixed eyes. "Are you with me?"

Reid literally shook himself out of it. " _You_ want _me_ to write a book with _you_?"

 _The man whose books I virtually memorized even before I memorized the FBI handbook?_

Rossi's ego harrumphed. "Not _write_. _Consult_. You can help me with some of the phrasing for the younger readers. You know, keep it relevant for them."

Even as he heard the words escaping his lips, Rossi wanted to retract them.

 _Who am I kidding? This kid isn't even from this century! I should have asked JJ._

But the look on Reid's face stopped him from changing his plans. The younger man virtually glowed with pride, and honor….and gratitude. It touched Rossi that his words should have had such a profound effect on a young man whom he'd come to respect. Even, if he was honest, he sometimes thought Reid was nuts.

"What do you say? Will you do it with me?"

He'd never realized Reid could smile so widely.

"Of course, I will! I…thank you! Thank you, Rossi!"

As the younger man walked back down the narrow mezzanine, he could be heard talking to himself.

"I'm writing a book…. _with David Rossi_! Incredible!"

That's when Rossi realized _he_ could smile pretty widely, too.

* * *

"Whoa! What's got you goin' there, Pretty Boy?"

Reid had just plopped down in his office chair, tilted it back, and begun spinning around, grinning.

"You'll never guess."

"Well, that's a sure bet, where you're concerned. Seriously, what's up? Did Hotch finally get you access to the X files?"

Emily Prentiss was seated in the third cubicle. Reid had gotten her attention, too. At Morgan's words, she chuckled. Then realized to whom the words had been addressed.

 _Maybe he wasn't kidding._

So she asked. "The X Files? Tell me you don't believe in that stuff."

Reid stopped spinning and planted his feet on the floor.

"Emily, there are a great many things we don't understand. It's important for _someone_ to keep track of them."

"But….aliens? Really?"

From his posture, his teammates could see that Reid was about to launch into full professorial mode, and Morgan flashed Emily a look that said 'thanks a lot'. She shrugged him an apology.

"That was a TV show. A pretty good one, actually, but still, a TV show. And the motto, 'the truth is out there' is very appealing, because most people have a need for things to be black or white. They want real answers. People don't like to live with uncertainty."

Emily considered his words, and the person speaking them.

"Aren't you an engineer?" She'd dated a few. In her experience, there was a definite personality type. "Don't _you_ need things to be in black and white?"

The question seemed to send Reid on a brief, introspective journey, and Emily was concerned she'd said something out of line. But then he returned.

"I used to. I used to believe in black and white, and right and wrong. But I don't anymore."

Morgan narrowed his eyes at his younger companion. He wasn't so sure that was a positive, given the business they were in.

"What changed?"

Reid shrugged. "Everything. Me. Gideon. It's true I have a doctorate in engineering, but now I'm studying philosophy, and it turns out that most philosophers don't believe in black and white at all."

Emily's voice held more than a tinge of recognition. "It's all shades of gray."

"Exactly."

Morgan was perplexed to have found himself unexpectedly in the middle of a deeper conversation than he was accustomed to having in the middle of the bullpen. So he went back to his initial question.

"So, what's got you so fired up, then?"

Reid looked from Morgan to Emily, and back again.

"I _..." pausing, for effect, "_ ….am writing a book. With Rossi."

Two sets of brows went up, and their owners exchanged a glance. This was even more unexpected than the heavy conversation. Morgan got his tongue going first.

" _You're_ writing a book with _Rossi_? About what?"

 _And has the old man finally lost his mind?_

Arms waving wide to take in the whole of the bullpen, Reid responded.

"This. What we do. Our cases. He wants me to collaborate, to 'bring in a younger voice'."

Making finger quotes.

Emily couldn't restrain a smile at the obvious pleasure of her young friend. But she hardly thought he would be bringing a young voice to Rossi's work.

 _He was born old. And his childhood just made him older._

Still, she was happy for him, even if she was concerned for her older colleague. She took one look at Morgan, and knew they were both thinking the same thing.

 _There goes Rossi's blood pressure._

* * *

 ** _A.N. Floating a balloon here. I like the Reid/Rossi relationship, and thought this might be an interesting way to explore it. Yay? Nay?_**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A.N. Some of you asked where in Season Five this begins, since Reid seems to be walking without difficulty. The answer is 'at the beginning'. But I have to take a minor liberty with the start of the case, because I forgot they'd gotten called out directly from home. It's not the last liberty I'll be taking.**_

 _ **This story will occur with the background of cases set in Season Five, but will reflect on cases from previous seasons. There will likely be minor changes, reflections or interpretations that are not strictly canon, but nothing far afield.**_

* * *

 **Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 2**

Rossi had hardly had time to recover from the idea that he'd invited Reid to collaborate with him when JJ whisked by his office, manila folder in hand.

"Got an urgent one. Hotch isn't in yet, but I've texted him to meet us at the scene."

Rossi was already grabbing his phone, glad to leave the rubble of his writing life behind him on the office floor.

"What is it?"

"Active threat in NoVa. Some guy who says he's going to kill a person a day until the son of a doctor is killed."

Rossi kept pace with her as she swept down the stairs and delivered the same synopsis to their colleagues in the bullpen.

"I'll give you more details on the way."

"Wait!" said Emily. "Where's Hotch?"

JJ shrugged. "Don't know. I texted him the address. He can meet us there."

* * *

They all did their best to work the case, dividing their attention between the doctor's home and the son's school. But, as the day wore on, and there was still no word from Hotch, six sets of antennae pulsed. Something was wrong.

Rossi had gone to the school along with JJ and Morgan, leaving Reid and Emily at the home of Dr. Barton, grateful not to have been stuck with the task of reviewing records with Reid. He'd already texted his old friend six times, and tried calling him an additional four. The professional in him kept him attentive to the case at hand, but the quiet moments in between had him racking his brain for answers, running as many possibilities as he could conjure.

 _Maybe he just doesn't have service. But Garcia would be able to tell us that. And he should have been to work by now, anyway, even if we got in late last night. A car accident, maybe? Or…..God, he's younger than I am, but I guess you're never too young for a heart attack. Should I have Garcia call the hospitals? Or…is it even possible….can she search all area 911 calls from the time we got back?_

Even more so than the others, Rossi tended to relegate much of what Garcia did to the realm of magic. Who knew what she could do?

 _Maybe I should call her…._

His thought was interrupted by a shout out from the local police sergeant accompanying the group at the school There had just been an urgent summons over his radio.

"Shots fired at the doctor's address! Says a federal agent might be down!"

The three profilers ran to their SUV and followed the police vehicle back through the local streets to the Barton home. It was a short journey, and there really wasn't time to speak. But all three of them entertained visions of their dark-haired female colleague lying in a pool of blood. All three uttered silent prayers for the life of Emily Prentiss.

From the end of the street, they could see that other law enforcement was already on scene, as was an ambulance. Rossi and JJ had their doors open even before Morgan pulled over. They ran toward the several figures lying and kneeling on the ground, a distinct disconnect occurring in each mind as they processed what their eyes were telling them.

 _Reid! It's Reid who's been shot?!_

It had never even occurred to him. He'd just assumed that, of the two left behind, it would have been Emily who would have confronted an attacker. He was so convinced of it, that he kept scanning the grounds, looking for some place where she might have lain. But there was nothing. There was only a male victim, under the care of EMTs…..and Spencer Reid, propped on an elbow, holding a red spot on his knee, lying next to a pool of his own blood.

"Are you all right?" JJ gasped the words, sounding as shocked as Rossi felt.

"I'm fine. Call Emily! Something's happened to Hotch!"

And the tumblers fell into place.

 _Emily isn't here. That's why Reid took the lead. But it looks like the Kid did the job. Unsub's down, Barton and his son are okay. But...Hotch!_

He was already tapping numbers on his phone. Once he connected with Emily, she demanded to know about Reid.

"He's been shot in the knee, but it's through and through. Took down the unsub, though. Dr. Barton will look after him, I'm sure. Tell me about Hotch."

And, with that, Reid went completely from his mind.

Rossi listened as she explained what she'd found at Hotch's apartment, and how he'd been dropped off at the hospital as an unknown. He was still in surgery, and she needed the team there as soon as possible.

He tried to hustle the others back into the SUV, even as their teammate was being lifted into an ambulance, but JJ wasn't about to be hustled.

"I'll go with Spence."

"You heard what Emily said. There's an unknown threat out there. We need to work together. Reid will be fine."

"But Dr. Barton said he'll need surgery. One of us should be there when he wakes up, shouldn't we? I don't think he should be alone."

Rossi hesitated. He knew her anxiety stemmed, in part, from the friendship that had grown between the two youngest members of their team. And it wasn't like they were going to be in urgent need of a liaison. But he was old school. In an emergency, it was always 'all hands on deck'.

He knew the only one who could effectively assure her was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. So he walked over and put the question to him.

"Do you want JJ to come with you?"

Feeling guilty about even asking, because it was all a façade. He knew there was no way Reid would take her away from helping out their unit chief.

Reid's eyes went from Rossi to JJ, narrowed now as the adrenalin wore off, and the pain set in.

"I'll be all right. Go to Hotch. He needs you."

"Spence…"

"I promise I'll call you as soon as I can. It's all right."

Rossi gave Reid one brief nod of thanks…or maybe, respect….and turned to see if the words had had the desired effect on JJ.

She looked from Reid, to Rossi, and back to Reid again, seemingly not quite satisfied. Until she came up with her own plan.

"I'm giving the EMTs my number. I want _someone_ to call me every two hours."

Rossi smiled to himself as he led her away.

 _And that's why you're the liaison._

* * *

It was worse than he'd expected. The unsub hadn't tried to kill Hotch. He'd tried to _subjugate_ him. And, for whatever period of time the two had spent together, he'd succeeded. Rossi considered it his duty, both as a friend and as the default unit chief, to see that the unsub's success was limited. And that it remained in the past.

He sent the others off to round up Haley and Jack, and arranged for them to be placed into witness protection. He even personally selected the protection team, knowing Hotch wouldn't trust any but the best. And then he spent a few hours debriefing his old friend, and beginning the reconstruction of his ego.

Rossi stepped out of the room when Haley arrived with Jack, but he could still see through the window. It didn't exactly tax his profiling skills to read their facial expressions.

 _Anyone,_ he thought, _can see the pain, the guilt, the resentment, the resignation….and the love. Yes, there is still a profound love there._

Which was the tragedy of the whole situation. Not just the work of Foyet, whom Hotch had been able to name specifically. But the whole of it. The fact of two people finding love with one another, and yet unable to be pliant in the nurturing of it. It was a familiar and highly personal tragedy for Rossi. His heart became heavy with thoughts of Carolyn as he watched his younger colleague follow in his misguided footsteps.

When they were finished, he had the others escort Haley and Jack to the marshals, while he remained behind to console his friend.

"This will end, Aaron. We'll get Foyet, and you'll get your family back."

 _But it's up to you to make that work, my friend. When it's time, I'll help you see that._

Hotch protested. It hadn't worked before. Foyet had bested the cop in Boston. He'd bested Morgan.

"And now it's me."

"He hasn't bested you, Aaron. He hurt you, but he hasn't won. He didn't kill you, and he didn't kill Morgan."

Still not ready to let go of it. "But he could have, either one of us. We're alive by his choice."

"Then he made a mistake, didn't he? Because now he's got the finest people in law enforcement coming after him."

Watching the words begin to penetrate, and then reinforcing them.

"Do you know what your team did today? No other group of people in the world could have accomplished what they did in a matter of hours."

He gave a short recap of their case, ending with, "And these are the people who will take Foyet down."

Hotch closed his eyes, picturing each worried face hovering over his bed just a few hours ago. Each worried face, save one.

"Where's Reid?"

And it came crushing back to Rossi, that old, familiar, sense of failure. He'd completely forgotten about Reid.

 _I may not be married any more, but apparently I'm not done neglecting people._

He explained what had happened to their youngest.

"It was Reid who took down the unsub. But he was shot in the process."

"What?! Is he all right?"

The little observer in Rossi was pleased to see his old friend revert so quickly to unit chief mode. But the rest of him was guilt-ridden. All he could do was to shrug.

"We'll have to ask JJ. She'll know."

Realizing that _he'd_ not thought to ask her, all day long.

Before he had a chance to ruminate further, the others returned, and Hotch put the question to JJ immediately.

"Rossi tells me Reid was shot. What do we know?"

She smiled, and both men relaxed at once. "I just told these guys…" Eyes running over the others. "I spoke with him, finally. He says he'll be fine, but he might need crutches for a little while."

" _Might_? JJ, it's _Reid_."

Hotch didn't have to explain what he meant. They all knew the young man disliked being the object of anyone's attention. It was in his nature to minimize.

"I know. So I made him give me permission to speak with his doctor….the one Dr. Barton recommended. He said that, even though the bullet didn't become lodged, it did some major damage. He'll definitely need crutches, and he'll need some extended physical therapy. But there's a good chance he'll eventually be fine."

"Did he put a timeline on 'eventually'?"

Hotch knew his young genius well. If he wasn't kept busy, his mind could take him to some difficult places. Reid couldn't be sidelined for too long.

Rossi recognized the tone of concern and correctly guessed at what had precipitated it. But he had an idea.

"Don't worry. I think I may have already come up with a way to keep him out of trouble."


	3. Chapter 3

**Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 3**

Rossi knew, even before he spoke with her, that Erin Strauss would stand the team down. Both injured men needed to heal, and Reid needed physical therapy. The kind of therapy Aaron Hotchner needed, Rossi knew, didn't exist. But he also knew that his old friend would be put through as many screening, and readiness, and fit-for-duty tests as the FBI could conjure.

"He's done, David. He can't come back from this. He was helpless at the hands of this person Foyet. That does something to a man's ego."

Part of Rossi thought she was right. But a larger part saw the blatant ambition behind her words. To her credit, she _was_ truly horrified at what had been done to Hotch. But she was also realizing an opportunity to eliminate the competition in a contest that only she perceived to be taking place.

 _What happened to that girl I came up the ranks with? Where did you go, my dear friend?_

"He _has_ to come back, Erin. He can't let Foyet be the final chapter to his career."

 _Nor his family._

It wasn't something she would be able to force. And Rossi knew Hotch would pass all of the tests. He'd know exactly what to say, having written so many of the questions. So time would have to tell, and they all settled into as much of a routine as they could muster, two men down.

With Reid out, the paper case pile was slow to diminish in size, and it became a daily visual reminder of their missing genius. So did the fact that there was always coffee in the pot when he went to fill his cup. And it was _quiet._

He'd spent most of the days following the incidents at the hospital with Hotch. On the surface, he joined the wounded man in strategizing how to find and deal with Foyet. Beneath, he strategized alone, how to help heal the most devastating wounds Aaron Hotchner bore, the ones that were visible to only a trusted friend.

So he hadn't managed to visit Reid before the young man was discharged from another hospital. But he'd diligently kept track of his progress, through the others.

"I heard you and Morgan took Reid home yesterday. Is he settled in okay?"

JJ sighed. "As best he can be, I guess. I wanted him to come home with me, but he wouldn't. Said he didn't want to scare Henry."

Rossi didn't understand. "How would he scare Henry?"

"Well, he _said_ it was because he didn't want Henry to see the bandages, or the brace, or the crutches."

"But you think it's something else?"

She laid down the file of folders she'd been carrying.

"I think there's probably some truth to it. I told Henry that his Uncle Spence had an accident, and had a big boo-boo. But, Spence is right, Henry is probably just picturing a big bandaid. The real thing might be a little much for him. But, really, I think he doesn't want Henry…..or _anyone_ , for that matter….to see him in pain."

"Well, a little pill or two should take care of that, shouldn't it? He might be loopy, but he won't be in pain. Tell him Henry would get a kick of his loopy 'Uncle Spence'."

In that moment, JJ realized that Rossi didn't know. And she blessed Aaron Hotchner for not telling him.

 _Spence fought long and hard on that. He doesn't need to carry it with him forever._

She was sure Rossi had been briefed on each of the agents, when he'd rejoined the BAU. But apparently Hotch hadn't considered Reid's addiction to be brief-worthy, and she agreed with him.

So she answered Rossi in the most honest, least revealing, way she could.

"Spence can't take narcotics. He gets some relief from ibuprofen, but he still has a fair amount of pain."

Given what he knew of Spencer Reid, Rossi just assumed she meant the young man was allergic. It never occurred to him that there might be another reason.

"Oh. Well, then. I guess I can understand his concern about being around Henry."

 _I sure wouldn't want to be around a toddler. Not when I'm in pain. I don't even like it when I'm healthy!_

JJ reached for her folders. "We're going to take turns bringing him some food. I've got him tonight, and then Garcia, and Emily. Morgan will bring him to his follow-up appointment, and then we'll figure out how to get him back and forth to PT."

"Hmm. Maybe I can take him out to dinner, when he's ready. Give him a change of scenery."

She smiled. "Spence would like that. He's got all sorts of ideas about the book."

He joined her. "Ah, the book. Yes, I think it's time we got started on our little project."

* * *

After almost three weeks, and two declined offers, Reid finally agreed to meet Rossi for dinner. The senior agent offered to pick him up, but Reid declined that, as well.

"I'll just get a cab, and meet you at the restaurant."

"Well…..okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure."

Still, Rossi was surprised when he arrived to one of his favorite little Italian spots, to find Reid already seated, and half way through a glass of water.

"Am I late?"

"What? No. No, I just wasn't quite sure how long it would take. You know, with the cab. Traffic."

Rossi nodded, and made a comment about the vagaries of driving in and around DC. But his eyes took in the crutches, and the bulky brace surrounding Reid's knee. He motioned toward it.

"That's a pretty intimidating piece of machinery."

"I'm getting used to it."

"Do you have to wear it all the time? Even when you sleep?"

Reid shrugged. "Now that the stitches are out, I get to take it off for bathing."

Before Rossi could react to that, their waiter arrived to the table. Already uncomfortable with the attention, Reid took advantage of the time it took to place their orders, and changed the subject.

"How's Hotch?"

Rossi was too experienced not to know when he was being manipulated. But he also heard the genuine concern in his companion's voice. He knew how much Reid looked up to their unit chief, and how shaken he must have been to learn what Foyet had done to him. Of the team, Reid alone had not seen nor spoken with Hotch since that fateful day.

"He's coming along. He thinks he'll be back in another two weeks, give or take."

Reid heard the undercurrent.

"You don't think he'll be ready?"

As much as he respected each member of the team, Rossi was also aware that they worked in a hierarchy. And it wouldn't do to discuss his reservations with someone who reported to the object of them.

"Work is the best therapy for him. He'll be fine."

Reid wasn't quite ready to let it go.

"I was worried about him. That day, after Emily told me what had happened… I just couldn't picture him getting attacked like that. I mean….. it was _Hotch."_

Rossi smiled, and hoped to be held in that same kind of esteem one day.

"Yes, it was Hotch. Which is why he survived it, and why he'll get past it."

"But….what about Haley, and Jack? He must be going crazy, not knowing where they are."

Rossi assured him. "He's focused. He'll get the job done, and we'll help him. And then, they'll be able to come home."

It was Rossi's turn to change the subect. "So, are you ready to get started on our little project?"

Reid immediately lit up. "Yes! I've been thinking about it, and I think maybe I know how I can help."

"Okay, I'll bite. How?"

 _Since I'm one hundred percent sure you won't be bringing the voice of youth to it._

"Well, as you know, I have an eidetic memory. I can easily review our case records, and check the story for accuracy."

"You don't think my stories are accurate?"

 _Well, that didn't take long_ , thought Reid. _I've already put my foot in my mouth._

"Sorry. No, it's just…..isn't it important to be precise?"

The arrival of their food interrupted the conversation briefly. Rossi was pleased to see Reid tuck heartily into his meal. He motioned with his fork.

"Pretty good, right? Mario ….the chef/owner….we go back quite a ways. He makes his own pasta. And his sauce is delicioso."

"Mmmph. Uh-huh." Diana Reid had taught her son never to speak with his mouth full. Which meant another eight minutes of silence.

When they'd had their fill, each leaned back and enjoyed the carbohydrate rush. Then Rossi brought them back to business.

"So…you think you can help by making sure I'm accurate."

"Well…." Reading Rossi's tone, and not so sure of his response. "Unless you want me to do something else."

Rossi studied his teammate for a moment, and then issued an order.

"Tell me a story."

"What?"

"Tell me a story. The only way I'm going to know what your storytelling voice is like is to hear you tell a story."

Obviously flustered, Reid could only protest.

"But I don't know any stories!"

That sent Rossi's brows skyward. "You don't know any stories. Aren't you the guy who has a quote for every occasion? The one who can't resist sharing any little factoid that comes to mind?"

"But that's just the point! They're facts, not stories. JJ says I'm good with telling her the plot of a story, but I don't always get the point."

Rossi wasn't buying it. "The _point_ is whatever you think it is. As long as you have a point of view, you have a point."

"But…"

Rossi's upraised palm stopped him.

"Tell me a story. Tell me about something that happened when you first joined the BAU. Something from when Gideon brought you in."

"But…"

"You were there, Spencer. Just tell me what happened."

So Reid dug deep, and pulled out a memory of one of those early cases. After their waiter brought them two cups of espresso, he began.

"Well….there was this case we had in Seattle. It was the first case that Gideon came back for, after Boston."

"I think I remember hearing about this one. I always thought it must have been a pretty enticing case, to bring him back early."

"It was. Mostly because we ended up having two unsubs. But that's not why I remember it."

Intrigued, Rossi took the bait. "Why, then?"

"I remember it because it was the first time I realized that it wasn't enough to know about how people act. If you really want to figure things out, you have to put yourself in their shoes."

It was something Rossi had noticed about Reid, often to his consternation. The young man was sometimes eerily good at identifying with the unsub.

 _And now, maybe I'm about to find out why._

No such luck. The lesson, in the end, had been pedestrian, even if it had also been impactful.

"You put yourself in the unsub's shoes?"

"Well, technically, I put myself into his routine. We needed to get into his laptop, but it was set up to erase the hard drive if we used the wrong password. Morgan and I had already searched the entire house and the only remotely interesting thing we found was this huge collection of music, with only a single empty CD case. And I realized…."

"That he must have been listening to it."

"Exactly!" Enthused that Rossi had figured it out, too. "It was in his laptop! And it gave us the password, which gave us his location, and…."

"And you got to have a happy ending. Relatively speaking, of course."

In their business, it was always someone's _unhappy_ ending that got them involved in the first place.

Reid nodded. "Gideon was shot, but it wasn't serious. And we saved the victim. The last victim, anyway. But the reason I remember it so well is that it was the first time I'd helped to solve a case by _processing_ information, and not just making sure we had all the facts."

Rossi's expression told Reid he thought it an odd thing to say. And then his words confirmed it.

"Isn't it _all_ about process, the work we do? Don't we always have to get into the mind of the unsub?"

"That's what I learned. But, when I first came to the BAU, Gideon told me he needed me for what my brain could remember. So I just provided facts, whenever it seemed like facts would be helpful. I know it sounds crazy, but I was kind of used to it. I was always the freak who could recite the encyclopedia to someone. No one ever really wanted to know what I _thought_ about it."

Rossi took several sips of his coffee before responding, trying to untangle the all-too-familiar web of conflicting thoughts and emotions Reid's words had brought rushing back.

"Are you saying Gideon didn't actually recruit you as an agent? That you were brought on as a _resource_?"

Trying to keep the outrage from his voice. Jason Gideon had been many things to David Rossi, back in the day. Colleague, friend, co-conspirator. But he'd also been Rossi's greatest challenge. Hunting serial killers tended to bring out either the best, or the worst, in a person. Sometimes both, at once. Rossi had seen both in Gideon. His single-mindedness had been one of the things that made him good at the job. But it had also meant he was as likely to trod right over a colleague as he was to help him up. To use him, and then discard him. That he would have done this to a young innocent…. _a kid, like Stephen_ ….. was reprehensible.

Reid could see something in Rossi's face, but he couldn't quite make it out before a mask of civility replaced it.

And maybe he was having trouble hiding his own conflict over the answer to the question. But, he reasoned, if they were going to work together, he was going to have to be honest with Rossi.

"At first, maybe. Yes. But he taught me on the job. Once I got here, he started to teach me everything about profiling. He _helped_ me."

Inexplicably driven to defend the mentor who'd abandoned him.

Rossi could see that his question had upset Reid in some way, and backed off.

 _Best to let him just tell his story._

"So, you learned about applying the information inside your head. That's what that first case taught you?"

"Well, yes. That…..and that sometimes you have to take chances. Like… I could have been wrong about the password for that laptop. If I had been, we wouldn't have been able to find that last victim….well, and she probably wouldn't have been the last, I guess. He would have killed again. But we went with it, Morgan and I…and it paid off."

"A calculated risk."

"Exactly. But..," revisiting the memory in full. "….. I think I could have recited the odds of us being correct with much more certainty than I had watching Morgan hit 'enter'."

"He believed in you."

The surprise on Reid's face told Rossi that the idea had never occurred to the young man.

He was right. Across the table, Rossi's words resonated with Reid. When he'd first followed Gideon to the BAU, Derek Morgan had been an unknown, a question mark. A large, intimidating, question mark, openly vocal about his annoyance with Gideon's new protégé. But Rossi was right. Morgan may have rolled his eyes every time Reid opened his mouth for a recitation of factoids, but, when it counted, he'd shown confidence in his younger colleague. Maybe even before Gideon had.

"I….I guess he did." Smiling to himself. They'd come a long way since then, he and Morgan.

Rossi nodded. Then he pushed back his chair.

"Well, it's a school night for me. When do you think you'll be back to work?"

Noticing that Reid hadn't replicated his movement. The younger man didn't look to be leaving any time soon.

"I'm ready. I can come back any time."

Rossi gave him an 'oh, really' look. "Maybe I should have asked when your _doctor_ thinks you can come back to work."

"Oh. Two weeks." Unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

Rossi took pity. "Tell you what. How about you come in next week, and you can help Morgan and Prentiss work through that pile of paper cases. I think they can barely see each other over it, it's so tall."

The younger man brightened. "Really? Yeah, great! Or I can come in tomorrow and get started."

Rossi laughed. "Really. But not until next week. And no field work until you're officially cleared. Listen to your doctors, Spencer. They're trying to _help_ you."

Rossi recognized a bad patient when he saw one. The sight had greeted him in the mirror often enough. He also recognized the posture of someone not getting ready to leave the restaurant.

"Aren't you coming?"

Reid tried to wave him off. "It takes me a little bit to get going. I don't want to hold you up."

Curious now, Rossi held his ground. "I'm not in that big of a hurry. I'll wait, and help you get your cab. Unless you'll agree to let me drop you off."

Reid hurried to respond. "No need. I'm good."

Seeing that Rossi wasn't about to leave without him, Reid had no choice but to begin the tedious process. Rossi watched as the younger man slid awkwardly to the end of the booth, and reached for his crutches. He seemed to have particular difficulty….and, judging from his facial expression, considerable pain…. getting his leg to turn the corner of the bench, and then pulling himself upright.

The whole process took a full five minutes. Watching, Rossi realized why Reid had arrived to the restaurant so early.

 _He didn't want me to see this. He didn't want me to see him impaired. Well, too late, Kid. Now I'm going to make you let me bring you home._

He simply wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. As they exited the restaurant, Rossi put himself between Reid and the curb, making it impossible for him to hail a cab. With Reid still somewhat tentative on the crutches, they moved slowly as Rossi escorted the young man to his car, parked in the lot.

"See? Isn't it easier to get into an SUV with that contraption than it is to get into a yellow cab?"

"I guess."

"Kid, when somebody does something nice for you, you're not supposed to be mad at them about it."

"Sorry." Then, reminding himself that he was being honest with Rossi, he added, "I guess I just don't like to look weak."

Rossi looked over at his passenger. "You took a bullet in the process of saving someone's life. That injury is a badge of honor, not a sign of weakness."

Reid was silent after that, taking it in, watching the city streets go by. When they arrived outside his apartment building, he did his best to be gracious.

"Thanks, Rossi. For dinner….and for the ride."

The older man smiled. "You're welcome. We'll do this again, soon. It takes a lot of time to put a book together."

 _Not to mention how long it takes to build up an ego._

Reid was enthused once again. "Any time. I can even try to write down some of what I remember, if you want."

Rossi snorted. "Wouldn't that be…'everything'?"

"Oh. Yeah. Okay, I won't. Thanks again."

Rossi leaned over the seat to call out the window.

"The elevator working in your place?"

"Huh….oh, yeah. It's fine."

"Okay then. The BAU, next week."

"Right. Good night, Rossi."

The senior profiler pulled away from the curb, looking at the young man in his rear view mirror. At about Reid's age, he'd lived in one of the apartments in this same neighborhood. He knew they were all walk-ups.

He sighed as he thought to himself.

 _I probably need to call my editor. I don't know if this is going to help me get a book done or not. But I think I may have found a much more worthy project._


	4. Chapter 4

_**A.N. Hopefully, this is as long as (and much longer than) you will ever have to wait for a chapter. Had to finish another story (and earn a living) in the interim.**_

* * *

 **Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 4**

Until he'd seen the kid trying to hide his struggle with the crutches….not to mention the pain that went along with it….Rossi hadn't given all that much thought to Reid's recovery. Not beyond his promise to Hotch to keep the genius mind distracted, anyway. After all, he knew the others had made plans to look in on him, and bring him food. He hadn't offered to be a part of the rotation, reasoning to himself that he had Hotch to look after.

But, ever since the night of their dinner, the plight of the young man had been niggling at the back of Rossi's mind. Not just the injury, and the difficulty getting around. But the _fact_ of him, of how he'd come to be with the BAU, how he'd _stayed_ with the BAU, even after losing his mentor to ….to whatever it was that had taken Gideon.

 _PTSD? Depression? Or some other thing that had been lurking within him, all those years? God knows, I caught glimpses of it, now and then, whatever it was._

Reid had been brought to the BAU by Gideon.

' _Found him in a basket left on the FBI's doorstep'. Isn't that what I told some LEO one day? I was joking, but maybe that was exactly how Gideon saw him. The BAU's very own Moses, hand-delivered by God._

He could almost see Gideon taking on the role. He'd been a master manipulator who, thankfully, had used those skills for good. Mostly.

 _He always knew exactly how to maneuver himself with an unsub. Always knew how to get inside their skin, how to get them to do his will. I admired that. I wished I could make myself obeisant to a serial killer instead of coming into an interview, verbal guns blazing, ready to go head to head with them. I wished I had that temperament. I admired that about Gideon. Until I found out that he'd used those same techniques on an innocent kid without a family._

Rossi thought back to the time he'd rejoined the BAU. He'd heard about Reid, of course. Most people in their branch of the Bureau had. But the person he'd met hadn't been at all whom he'd expected to meet. Rossi had conjured a mental picture of some nerd with slicked down hair and thick glasses.

 _Well, I was right, on that count. But I was wrong about so much else._

Somehow….maybe influenced by popular culture….. he'd expected the genius to be cold, machine-like, a computer in human skin. But the person he'd met had been anything but.

 _He was eager. A kid, really, but excitable. Enthused. Engaged. And pulling that Halloween mask off his head!_

Rossi chuckled to himself at the memory of their first meeting. The first thing Reid had done, upon being introduced, had been to gush on about Rossi's books, and begin peppering him with questions.

 _A fan boy._

But a fan boy with smarts. And keen skills of observation. _Not_ a robot. A person with a distinct personality, and a real, beating, human heart.

His reverie took Rossi back to one of their early cases, one where he'd first seen Reid mistreated in the course of doing his job.

 _The_ first _time. The_ first. _I can't even imagine what that must be like. This job is hard enough without having to wonder if you're going to be abused by the people who_ aren't _the unsubs._

The two of them had been going door-to-door out in militia country. And Reid….FBI badge fully in view….had been greeted with, "FBI? You're not serious? You look like a pipe cleaner with eyes. I could snap you like a twig."

Rossi had been outraged for his young colleague, and sprung immediately to his defense."But then,", he'd said, "he isn't alone."

It had been enough to make the militant back down, for the moment. But not enough to keep him from getting off a parting shot, regarding Reid's weapon. "Piece of advice, pipe cleaner...the way you wear that gun, you're begging someone to take it off you."

Rossi had been about to shout another retort over his shoulder, but a look from Reid had stopped him. That look had been Reid's only acknowledgement of the entire incident, and it had spoken volumes to Rossi.

 _He was used to it. If it hurt him, he didn't show it. But he was embarrassed about it happening in front of me._

And so, Rossi had left it alone. But his profiler mind had filed it into that mental manila folder entitled 'Spencer Reid'.

"Knock, knock."

Rossi startled, looking up to see Derek Morgan at his door.

"What's up?"

"Just checking in. Is there any word on Hotch?"

Without having discussed it, all of the rest of the team had felt it appropriate to leave all contact with their unit chief to their second in command.

Rossi nodded. "He'll be back next week. Strauss will activate the full team then."

Morgan's face said he wasn't so sure that was a good idea. But his tongue didn't betray his feelings.

"Pretty Boy should be back then, too, right?"

Rossi gave him a half smile. "Assuming you mean Reid, he's already back."

"What? When?"

"I had Garcia set him up in the conference room for now. Less up and down for him that way."

Morgan nodded, understanding. There was an external elevator to their mezzanine, but it was out of the way and hard to get to. He could just picture Reid trying to navigate their awkward metal stairs with his crutches.

"Good idea. Don't want the Kid falling and ruining that pretty face." He turned to go, planning to search out his no-longer-absent colleague, when Rossi spoke again.

"He's pretty tough, isn't he?"

Morgan paused for a beat, recalling all of the times his younger friend had demonstrated just that.

"And then some."

* * *

Reid looked up at the sense of motion in his peripheral vision. A grinning Morgan was at the door, holding two steaming mugs of coffee in his hand.

"Welcome back, Kid! We've missed you around here."

The 'Kid' grinned. "It's good to be back."

Moving forward, Morgan held out the extra mug. "I brought you some coffee. I thought it might be easier for you if…."

He stopped, looking down at the table. They'd been hidden behind the stack of files in front of Reid.

A wry look on his face, Reid gestured to the row of four coffee mugs in front of him.

"You can just put it there. Thanks."

Morgan chuckled. "I see I'm late to the party."

"Yeah. They've all been here already. But I'm up for a hot one."

"Well, there you go. So, how is it to be back?"

"Great. I found out there are only so many times you can read the same books, and only so many games of chess you can play against yourself. I needed to come back. I needed to feel useful."

"Rehab is a lot of work, Kid. And healing takes a lot out of you, even if you don't realize it. You've been plenty useful, just getting yourself ready to come back."

The younger man shook his head. "That's not what I mean. I…. what are we doing about Hotch?"

For a moment, it sounded like Reid might be sharing Morgan's reservation about their unit chief's impending return. But then Reid finished his thought.

"What are we doing about Foyet?"

 _Ah._ _Now_ Morgan understood.

The rest of them had all been together after Hotch had been attacked. They'd brainstormed, and profiled, and come up with some strategies to work toward Foyet's capture. The process had, however inadequately, satisfied their need to try to control the uncontrollable. It was a hazard of the trade in their business. And, while Reid hadn't been isolated from his team members, individually, he _had_ been isolated from the process.

 _He wants 'in'._

Morgan explained the status of the investigation, and the various surveillance parameters Garcia had been given.

"I'd bring you the files, but…" He cleared his throat, "they seem to be off site somewhere."

The long look exchanged by the two friends told Reid where, exactly, the files were.

"Okay. Maybe I can have Garcia show me whatever we have electronically."

"Definitely. And we should go over the whole thing, now that we have your big ol' brain back on board."

His shy smile turned up Reid's lips. "Thanks. And thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome. And I promise not to bring you any more."

* * *

JJ and Emily each found a few reasons to visit with Reid throughout the day, and Garcia seemed to pop her head in whenever she was headed….well, anywhere. Only Rossi waited until the end of the day to check on the youngest profiler.

"So, how was your first day back?"

Reid snorted. "Well, please don't tell the FBI, but I think I may have spent all of seventy-seven minutes working. The rest of the time….."

"They're just happy to have you back. And so am I, for the record."

The young man grinned. "I know. And I appreciate everything that everyone has done for me, this whole time. I don't think I've ever eaten so well, and I've never… _.ever_ ….had that much company at my apartment."

Which was exactly the opening Rossi had been hoping for. "Well, do you think you can tolerate just a little bit more?"

At the confused look on Reid's face, Rossi continued. "I thought maybe I could stop by with some dinner, and we could talk a little more about the book."

The words had a curious effect on the young genius. Blushing, he began to stammer.

"Oh! I….uh…..well…I….can you give me a few minutes? I mean…I ….well….what time?"

Rossi was too experienced in reading people not to understand Reid's reaction. His superior wanted to visit him at his home. He would want to make it look presentable. And he would _not_ want said superior to see him struggle with the flight of stairs leading to and from his flat.

Rossi could almost see the thought clouds above Reid's head, his thinking was so obvious. Further, he knew that Reid would know that he knew. _Say that three times fast! But the kid is too addled about my visit to realize_. So he chose not to challenge the young man.

"Why don't you go ahead and call it a day? I've just got a couple of files to look through and then I'll pick us up something to eat, and I'll be over in..." Trying to estimate how long it would take Reid to make his way home, "….two hours?"

A look of relief came over the younger man's face. "Two hours is great. Okay….thanks, Rossi. Do you need dir….oh, never mind, I forgot. You've been there before."

"So I have. See you in a couple of hours."

* * *

The place was quaint. He hadn't been inside, the night he'd driven Reid from the restaurant. But, today, he found the building to have its own kind of charm. Well kept up, but not modernized.

 _Reminds me of the old days, with Carolyn_ , a regretful smile coming to his lips. _The good old days. If I'd only known. If I'd only grown up, just a little bit more, before…._

Rossi made his way up the stairs and found Reid's apartment on the second floor. He knocked, and stepped back, so he could be seen through the peephole.

It was only a few seconds before the door swung open, and Rossi was chagrined to think that Reid must have been standing there, waiting for him.

"Come in," Reid leaned on both crutches as he waved Rossi in.

Rossi walked into ….a _library_. That was the only word that would come to mind. Spencer Reid lived in a library. One that had its own kitchen and bedroom, granted, but that's just what it was. A full wall of shelves was filled, floor to ceiling, with books. They seemed to spill to a few tables nearby, and then to a lower half-wall of books beneath the large window.

"Wow."

Seeing his senior taking in the sight of the books, Reid swung himself to one end of the wall.

"I've got yours right here. See? In the non-fiction, work-related section."

Rossi found his books on the shelf and then looked over to Reid.

"What, no Dewey Decimal system for you?"

"I prefer my own. Dewey is pretty outdated. It's estimated that by 2020, they'll have so many subcategories that they'll have to go to a seven digit system, even using the full alphabet and a couple of symbols recently designated as acceptable, and….."

Rossi's hand had already been up for four seconds. "All right, I get it. Your system is better."

Reid looked abashed, and Rossi was immediately regretful. "Sorry. I guess I'm just hungry."

"Oh. Right. Let me get some plates. It smells delicious. In fact, it smells like…"

"Like that Indian place you like, a few blocks over, I know. It is. Emily pointed me there."

Reid stopped, mid-swing. "You asked Emily what I like?" Touched, somehow, that Rossi would have done so.

"I asked _all_ of them. But Emily was the one who knew the takeout places."

Reid smiled. "Yeah. JJ and Garcia like to cook. But Emily orders the best takeout of anyone I know."

Continuing his trek toward the kitchen now.

Rossi chuckled as he followed. "You'd think, after having lived all over the world, she would be the go-to gourmet of the group."

Reid had had precisely that conversation with his good friend, just recently…over takeout.

"Her mother was the ambassador. She didn't cook. And she frowned on her daughter consorting with the servants."

"Ah."

This process of working with Reid was proving to be enlightening about more than one of his colleagues. Rossi saw Reid struggling to manage the plates, so he took them himself and headed to the café table he's seen in the main room. It looked like it would be easier for Reid to reach the seat there.

"Garcia is a pretty good cook, but sometimes…well, sometimes I don't _understand_ her food."

"What is there to understand about food?" Removing containers from the takeout bag.

"Apparently, quite a lot. Garcia cooks by her mood. So, there's happy food. Or, maybe it was food that was supposed to make _me_ happy." Pondering that for a second, then deciding to move on. "And there's healing food. And romantic food…."

"Romantic food?! Why didn't anyone tell me about this when I was married?"

"The first time? Or the second?" It was out of Reid's mouth before his brain had a chance to tell him to shut up. He tried to cover by spooning some food onto his plate.

Didn't work. Rossi's brows were up.

"Did you just make a joke about my many marital statuses? Statii?"

Momentarily panicked, Reid quickly realized that Rossi himself had made a joke.

"No! I just.."

"You just know a little bit about me, because I have a big mouth. But I know a lot less about you."

Reid purposely took a mouthful of food and chewed, before responding.

"There's not that much to know."

"Really? Because I think there's a helluva lot to know about someone who made it to the BAU in his twenties."

"Weren't _you_ in your twenties? You and Gideon?"

Rossi had already put a forkful into his own mouth. But he spoke around it.

"Doesn't count. There _was_ no BAU then. We were just two FBI agents who became fascinated with something."

Reid thought a moment. "Well, JJ was in her twenties, too. She's only two years older than I am."

Rossi recognized Reid's attempt to divert their conversation away from himself. And he wasn't having it.

"JJ came on as the liaison. There's profiling involved, sure. But it's a different job."

"She's really good at it."

He studied the young man across from him, so blatantly trying to avoid talking about himself.

"Yes, she is. And I'll bet she's a great cook, too, isn't she?"

Finally, a topic Reid was comfortable with.

"She is. She can cook anything. My favorite is her apricot chicken. But she makes a mean macaroni and cheese, too. Henry loves it."

Rossi smiled at the relief on Reid's face. But he wasn't quite done with the young man, who'd become so intriguing to him, over these past weeks.

"You and JJ are good friends, aren't you?"

No hesitation now. "She's my best friend. I….I guess I never really had one, before."

 _No, I suppose not. You've always been the outsider, haven't you?_ Remembering his experience with Reid's parents, and his tiny bit of exposure to Reid's childhood, last year.

"Well, good. It's good that you two are close. I'll bet she's learning a lot from you about profiling, isn't she?"

Reid was taken aback by that. He'd never really thought about it. But he and JJ were often together at the local precinct, or sheriff's department, or FBI office. And he _did_ spend a lot of time explaining to her what he was doing.

"Uh….I guess. But she's pretty smart. She would have figured it all out anyway."

Rossi nodded his assent, and then brought them back to the topic at hand.

"So, tell me about yourself."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You know all about me, right? If we're going to partner, shouldn't I know all about you, too?"

"I only know what you wrote in your books. But you mostly wrote about your cases, not about you."

"Really?" Rossi found himself beginning to feel uncomfortable, for the first time in their several conversations.

"Yes."

"Okay. Deal. You tell me something about your childhood, I'll tell you something about mine."

With the ball back in his court, Reid was uncomfortable once again. Rossi, noting it, did nothing to alleviate it.

 _I don't know why, but I know that this is important._

Beginning to feel a reconnection with something from which he hadn't realized he'd become quite so detached. So he waited Reid out.

The young man put down his fork, and cast his gaze out the window next to them, and into his past.

"When I was born, my parents were happy. I don't remember that, of course. But that's what my mom told me. Or maybe…." His eyes now scanning back and forth, reflecting his thought process. "Maybe she just said that _she_ was happy. I'm not so sure about my dad."

Rossi's thoughts raced back to that twenty-four hour period, so many years ago. That one day when he'd been thrilled, and fulfilled….and then bereft. And he couldn't imagine any man, anywhere, for any reason, having another reaction.

"Your father wasn't happy that you were born?" Unable to keep the incredulity from his voice.

Perversely…and annoyingly, even to him….Reid felt a need to defend William.

"It wasn't that he was unhappy with me. But Mom had already been sick for a few years, and they'd decided they shouldn't have children. Or maybe it was just him who decided. I don't know."

Spending a few seconds in reverie.

"All I know is that she chose to go off her meds during her pregnancy with me, and she became symptomatic again, and ….well, it was hard for him."

"Still. He had a _son_."

 _Didn't he know how many of us have prayed for what he was given?! Didn't he know what it's like to have a prayer go unanswered?!_

And then it hit Rossi.

 _Maybe he_ did _know. Maybe his was just a different prayer. But it was met with the same silence on the other end._

Reid could see that something was going on with Rossi, but he knew too little about the man to understand. All he could do was to continue with his tale.

"We were okay, I guess, until I was about four or five. That's when…..well, you know about the whole Riley Jenkins thing."

Rossi did. "But your father was still with you then, right? He didn't leave until later?"

"He left when I was eleven." Reid snorted bitterly. "I guess he thought I was old enough. Too bad I was a genius. Maybe he'd have stuck around longer."

Rossi didn't quite understand. "Are you saying that he thought you could take care of yourself, and your mother, because you were _intelligent_?"

"I _was_ intelligent. I was smart enough to know how to make things look good whenever a social worker, or a well-meaning teacher came by the house. I was smart enough to keep her from knowing when….. nevermind."

He'd almost said too much, more than he was comfortable with Rossi knowing. Rossi saw, and respected the boundary. He gestured for Reid to continue.

"I _was_ that smart. So maybe my dad was right. I mean, if you're going to abandon your kid, it's important to pick the right time, isn't it?"

Making no attempt to hide the sarcasm now, nor to defend William Reid.

Rossi sat back, steady eyes on his younger companion. Reid had clearly never come to a point of acceptance about his abandonment let alone to a point of resolution.

 _No wonder he's so raw, sometimes. So unexpectedly emotional. He's never had it shown to him, not by his godforsaken mother, and not by his cowardly father. He's never learned how to 'be'. It's a wonder he's here at all, let alone doing this job alongside the rest of us._

Over the past few years, Reid had slowly earned the respect of his esteemed colleague….but never in such tremendous increment as just now.

 _You are a force to be reckoned with, Spencer Reid._

The young genius, not privy to Rossi's inner musings, spoke again.

"My expectations aren't too high, are they? I mean, if you were a father, even if you struggled in your marriage, even if your wife wasn't healthy…..would you do that? Would you abandon your son?"

In the course of his life, David Rossi had encountered many unanswerable questions. But this wasn't one of them.

"Of course not!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 5**

Reid was excited to the point of insomnia. Hotch would be back tomorrow, and his own sidelining was (sort of) lifted. The BAU would be whole again, and back in action. Or so he hoped.

He'd had way too much time on his hands these past few weeks, much of which had been taken up with worrying about the future of his team.

 _If Hotch can't come back, who will take over? Rossi won't do this job forever, and he's already retired once. Maybe Morgan?_

Feeling reasonably comfortable with that idea. Morgan had stepped in for Hotch before, maybe it could happen again. But Reid had the very real sense that Morgan had only tolerated being in the position. It wasn't something he would want for the long term.

 _He likes to be in the field. He likes to move, and he has low tolerance for dealing with the locals. Morgan might step in, if he thought it was short term. But he doesn't want the job. I'm sure of that._

Which left Emily.

 _I could see her doing it. She's good with people. Hmph, maybe she learned it from her mother, the diplomat. I'm not so sure she has great respect for authority…..but, when he's pushed, neither does Hotch. But his is more of a healthy disrespect._

He'd not been so sure of either solution, but the idea of Emily Prentiss as their unit chief had been the only thing that had kept him from driving himself crazy perseverating over the issue.

It had freed him to perseverate over Hotch.

 _I wonder if this is the first time he's ever been a victim. The first time he's seen himself as vulnerable._

Reid had become acquainted with both characteristics, very early in life. Even if he hadn't been unrelentingly bullied, growing up in a household molded by paranoia would have done it for him. He mused on how drastically his self-image must have changed, for him to have knowingly thrown himself into the path of a bullet.

 _Maybe I just assumed it was for me._ Laughing to himself at the morbid irony.

He was worried about Hotch, worried about what his shattered invincibility might do to the man. He was worried about the fact that Foyet was still out there, and that there might be more torment to come.

His worry caused him to revisit his entire relationship with Aaron Hotchner. Most often, it took him back to an event that he'd always considered a turning point between them, the day when it had become clear that his unit chief had begun to think of him differently, that he'd outgrown the title of 'protégé'. On that day, both of their lives had depended upon Reid's physical stamina as much as they depended on his brain. And, on that day, they'd each realized how well they understood each other, even without words. Maybe better, without words.

He'd become so focused on it that he'd even brought it up to Rossi, in their last dinner meeting, just last week. Reid had moved the conversation away from the uncomfortable terrain of Gideon, and his father, and their abandonment of him. For him, that was all old news. He'd lived with it long enough to incorporate it into his psyche. But the attack on Hotch, and the potential loss of yet another significant figure in his life, was new…and frightening.

Hotch had been a reluctant mentor, in the beginning. He'd not, after all, been the one who'd plucked a young, socially naïve, genius away from the college campus where he belonged,, and dropped him unceremoniously into the FBI Training Academy. Nor had he been the one to agree to take him on with the BAU, even after he'd had to be waived through so many of the usual requirements. Gideon had been responsible for all of that. And, as Rossi had just learned from Reid, Gideon had promptly lost himself to his own personal demons, essentially abandoning the young man, for the second time in his life.

That Hotch had stepped in, even when Gideon was still physically, if not emotionally, with the team, spoke to the man's integrity, and empathy, and sense of responsibility.

 _He'd been taking care of all of us, really, even Gideon, for a long time. He's a nurturer. I think it might surprise him to think of himself that way, but, really, that's what he is. He's certainly been nurturing me. And JJ. And even Morgan, when he had him step in. He's been grooming him for leadership._

Reflecting then, on how sad a situation Hotch had found himself in, unable to nurture his own son.

Once he'd brought their conversation around to Hotch, Reid had described their early time together.

"I worked with him a lot, often side by side, especially as we connected with local law enforcement. Usually JJ and I stayed behind."

Rossi nodded. "He wanted to pick your brain."

The smirk on Reid's face said otherwise.

"Actually, I think he was trying to protect me from the locals. They'd usually take one look at me, and the remarks would start flying."

Rossi thought back to that militia case once again, and the 'pipe cleaner' remark. From Reid's lack of response, he'd concluded that the younger man had become inured to it. But he'd not quite taken the thought far enough.

 _I should have thought about what he'd had to go through, to get to the point where he could let it roll off his back._

Feeling riled, all over again, about the injustices the young man had endured. And remembering a few more that he'd personally witnessed, without saying a word.

Reid was still speaking. "No matter why, I was grateful, because I got to work directly with Hotch, and I think it helped me more than any course I'd ever taken at the Academy. I don't know if that's what he'd planned or not, but it worked."

Rossi sat back and took stock of the young man talking to him.

 _Yes, I can see it. I can see a little bit of Aaron Hotchner in you. I don't know how much he's shared with you about his childhood. But you're both good examples of good triumphing over evil._

Aloud, he offered, "Well, you learned from one of the best, my friend."

Reid nodded, but didn't like the implication of the tense. "I'm still learning."

It was Rossi's turn to nod. "So you are." Pausing a moment, as a thought occurred to him. "Something tells me that being a genius isn't about knowing everything. It's about _wanting_ to."

Reid's brows went up at the accuracy of Rossi's words. "Exactly! There's so much to know, and so much still to learn! Did you know that, despite all of human history, and all that the finest minds have deduced, there is still so much more to learn than we can even imagine?"

The older man smiled at his young friend's enthusiasm. "I suspect you'll do more than your share of figuring a lot of that out. Even if you didn't have such a gifted mind, your eagerness would get you there."

The word 'gifted' brought Reid back to his original line of thought. In his estimation, his mind had been pretty much his only gift.

"Did you know that Hotch tried to help me out with my other qualifications? Because I'd pretty much had to be waived through most of the Academy tests."

The 'child genius' had become the stuff of legend. Of course Rossi had heard about the unprecedented set of waivers. But he hadn't heard about Hotch's attempt at intervention.

"Tell me. Pretend you're telling a story for a book." Making mischievous eye contact with his subject.

Reid chuckled, and began to tell the tale of the shooting range.

"I felt like such a failure that day. I couldn't hit a thing. I'd been aiming for the heart, and, if I was lucky, if I hit the target at all, I got a kneecap or two. And I was already coming up on my second official test. Hotch just kept telling me to practice, but I couldn't believe it would help. I was already feeling bad by the time we got back to the BAU, and then I found out my lack of prowess had somehow made it back there before me. I heard Elle telling Morgan not to tease me about it. I mean, I was grateful that she cared, but it didn't exactly do much for my ego to have her thinking I needed her protection. I was almost glad Morgan rode me about it. _That_ , I could relate to. Pity, not so much."

"I'm sure he didn't really mean anything by it," said Rossi, irrationally trying to close a rift that had been long healed.

"Oh, yeah, he did. But that wasn't the worst of it. That was the day we got the case of the LDSK. I was completely over my head with that one, because it wasn't my _head_ that was needed. I helped create the profile, but then I totally fell into it with the unsub. We ran into each other in the hallway, and I knew it was him….but I didn't even see the blow coming, and down I went. And then he took a whole bunch of people hostage, including Hotch. For a while, there, I actually believed that Hotch was angry enough to beat me up. That's what he told the unsub he wanted to do. But then, just for a split second, we caught each other's eyes, and I thought…and then, he made sure the civilians were away from us, and I _knew_."

"Knew what?"

"I knew that he wanted me to grab the gun from his ankle holster, and shoot the unsub. Me, who'd just failed his shooting test the same morning. He had faith in me."

 _More like he had nothing to lose,_ thought Rossi. _But, then again…._

"How did he expect you to get the gun?"

"He kicked me." Said in a completely objective, matter-of-fact, tone of voice.

This was news to Rossi. "He _kicked_ you? Where? How hard?"

Reid saw Rossi's after-the-fact indignation, and sent him an appreciative smile.

"Not too bad. I'd had plenty worse. I told him, later, that he kicked like a nine-year-old girl."

"Sexist of you, eh?"

Reid laughed. "I guess. Anyway, he aimed mostly for my abdomen and my thighs. The unsub was following the kicks, and not my hands, so he didn't see me remove the gun."

"Wasn't he surprised that you just took the beating? That you didn't fight back?"

"Well, first of all, my wrists were tied. But no, people don't expect people like me to fight back."

Again, Rossi was surprised.

"Are you saying you were restrained, and being kicked in the belly, and you still managed to get his gun?"

Reid mimicked holding his wrists together, and waved his fingers. "I am skilled in sleight-of-hand."

"Still…"

"Well, don't be too impressed. I managed to leave Hotch's trouser leg up, so it was only a second or two before the unsub realized what was going on."

"So then what?"

"Then, he leveled his weapon at Hotch, and I shot him in the head."

A whistle escaped Rossi's lips. "With your wrists bound, and from the floor. That's some turnaround for a guy who kept hitting kneecaps at the shooting range. Unless…..were you trying for his knee?"

His smile told Reid the question was in jest.

"That's what I told Hotch, as a matter of fact."

They both chuckled at that, before Reid continued.

"But he and I talked about it afterward. He thought that it was inside me, that I couldn't go for a kill shot at the range, because I couldn't bring myself to kill someone."

Rossi nodded. He'd seen it before.

"But, when it was real, when it was 'kill-or-be-killed', you did it."

The younger man's face became creased with shallow lines of grief.

"I did."

Rossi studied him a moment more.

"Was that your first?" Wondering, further. "Your only."

The grief was outlined in full furrows now.

"It was my first. But not my only. But….if we could.."

Rossi waved it away, his profiling sense activated.

"We'll leave that for another conversation, at another time. Or never, if you prefer."

"Thanks."

Rossi would have let it go entirely, but he could see that he'd raised a sensitive issue, and wasn't about to let it drop without assuaging the pain, even if only a bit.

"So, it was the first time you'd killed someone. How did you handle it? Did Hotch help?"

Reid closed his eyes, remembering back to that night. What he remembered, more than anything, was how many people had described it as his 'first' time. As though they'd all assumed there would be more to come.

 _Why_ , he'd thought, _would anyone ever want to go through something like this again?_

He'd been relieved that his actions had saved lives, including his own. But he'd also been acutely aware that there was now another human being, perhaps a son, a brother, an uncle, a father, a husband….someone who'd left people behind. Someone who would never have the chance for remorse, who could never atone for his sins. Someone whose life would be defined only by the acts leading up to its premature end.

 _And that was my fault. I took it away from him, the chance at repentence. The chance of redemption._

Even then, and more so now, he'd known he had no choice. Not really. But there was then, and still was now, that element of regret, that wouldn't let him go.

 _Maybe I don't want it to. Maybe letting go of the regret means I've lost my faith in salvation._

The older man sitting across from him watched as the silent introspection took place behind Spencer Reid's eyes, and waited patiently for his response.

Reid had to draw upon his eidetic memory to bring back Rossi's question.

"Yes, Hotch helped. Gideon did, too. And I earned my shooting permit, so there was that."

The dismissive comment told Rossi that the evening's exchange was over, and it was time to go. On the drive home, he reflected once again about how enlightening it was all proving to be.

"Sure, I'm learning a lot about Spencer. But Gideon, and Hotch, and the others, as well." Speaking to himself aloud, as he often did while driving. "I'd best be careful, or I'm liable to learn something unexpected about _me_."


	6. Chapter 6

**Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 6**

Their dinner at Reid's was the last one he and Rossi shared before both of the BAU's injured members returned to active duty with the team.

Reid had been visiting with Garcia when JJ hunted him down.

"There you are!" She drew their attention to a news report out of Louisville. "Come on, we're headed out there."

Reid waved a hasty goodbye to their tech analyst, and followed JJ out the door.

"What did you mean by that?" she asked.

"By what?"

"When I came into the room, I heard you tell Pen, 'I'm a blinker'. What did you mean?"

Reid recognized that insistent tone to her voice, the one she got whenever she'd stumbled upon something she wasn't about to let go of before she was done with it. So he told her about his conversation with Garcia, ending with his conclusion that Hotch was not a blinker, but Spencer Reid was.

 _At least I hope Hotch isn't a blinker. Because, if he is, he'll never come back from this._

JJ stopped midstride and turned to him. The wide swing of his crutches limited his control of his momentum, and he barreled into her.

"Oomph…sorry! Are you all right?"

"Forget about me. Are _you_ all right?" Feeling stupid, that she'd not realized, and worried that he might have gotten hurt all over again.

He grinned, tapping his heavy brace with one of his crutches. "I'm fine. I'm wearing armor, remember."

She was relieved. "Thank goodness. So, what was it about?"

He'd been right, she wasn't about to let it go.

"I was just thinking that Hotch might have stared Foyet down, the whole time, without even blinking. But I…."

"Don't say that." Defensive, on his behalf.

"Don't say what?"

"Don't sell yourself short. You always do that, Spence, and I wish you would stop. You keep seeing yourself as someone who's weak, but look at you! You saved a man's life, taking a bullet in the process. You survived…."

Her voice trailed off, as it always did when that event came up. They both carried the trauma of it.

"It's all right." Never liking to see her upset.

"No, it's not all right. I'm a wuss for not being able to talk about it, even when you need me to. And you definitely do. Because I watched you, that awful night. You stared down the barrel of that gun. You did _not_ blink."

She was his best friend, and he knew she cared for him deeply. Still, it wasn't like her to be so adamant about something like this. Which was when he realized just how thrown she was about what had happened to Hotch, and all of the unknowns surrounding his return to the team. He'd spent quite a few sleepless hours on it himself, last night.

"He'll be okay, JJ."

Certain he was right about the _actual_ cause of her upset, and knowing she wouldn't be surprised that he'd figured it out.

"How do you know?" Walking alongside him now, headed for that obscure hallway elevator.

His shrug was barely visible, over the crutches. "Because he has to be."

Her raised brows told him his reasoning was weak. But it was also all they had.

"God, I hope you're right."

* * *

The trip home was largely silent and subdued, in sharp contrast to the hopefulness of the flight out. If their unit chief was aware of the recklessness he'd displayed, he didn't choose to discuss it. But the rest could think of nothing but.

JJ and Emily sat across from one another, each silently looking out the window of the jet. Morgan's seat backed Emily's, as he put his 'leave-me-alone' earbuds in, and played with his iPod. Reid was relegated to the long bench, which was the only seat that would accommodate the situation with his knee, for the moment.

Hotch was ensconced in the rear of the plane, facing away from the others. Looking at the back of his superior's head, Reid was flooded with memory. He recognized the seat selection, because he'd made it himself, in a similar situation.

 _He did exactly what I did in Texas. He put himself in the line of fire, ostensibly to save an unsub who was as troubled as he was dangerous. I used my body to shield Owen from the others. Hotch used his authority._

Reid had been given a stern talking-to after that one. Hotch had even told him his job could be in jeopardy for that kind of behavior. He'd needed to hear that, that day. He'd needed to be brought up short, and verbally shaken by the shoulders. Reid had no doubt that Hotch needed the same thing.

 _But who's going to do it for him? Strauss? Rossi?_

He remembered how he'd been then, and couldn't help but wonder if the same thing had happened to his superior. At the time, he hadn't used Dilaudid for ten months. That's what he'd told the assembly at the Beltway Clean Cops meeting. He said he 'hadn't used'. Not that he was 'in recovery', as the jargon usually went, because, at that moment, he'd felt far from it. Recovery required work on the inside, and not just a change in behavior. And he'd still had so much work to do on the inside, as the case had shown him.

 _Hotch is back but he's not. Physically, he's with us. But emotionally…..inside…._

Inside, Reid was almost certain, Hotch didn't recognize himself. His identity, the person his ego had always told him he was, had been threatened. Changed, maybe.

 _Maybe he's become a blinker._

Because even blinkers could stand up to a wrong perpetrated on someone else. Even blinkers could put themselves in danger, for a purpose. Even blinkers could reach the point of no longer caring about their own personal safety. Because even a blinker could reach the point where he no longer cares about his own life.

Reid knew. He'd been there. Maybe it had been the time spent captive at the mercy of the three personalities of Tobias Hankel, or maybe it had been the fact of his addiction. But he'd spent a long time as someone who could no longer recognize the man he'd seen in the mirror each day. And he couldn't help but wonder if the same had happened to Hotch.

Suddenly he became aware of a hand waving up and down in front of his face, and it pulled him out of the memory.

"Hello-o! Earth to Spence!"

He blinked himself back. "Huh?"

"Where were you?"

He was flustered for a second. There were some things he'd never even shared with his best friend, and he'd just been mired in them.

"Uh…" Looking up, and seeing the understanding in her eyes. She may not have known all of it, but she knew _him_.

JJ gave him a sad smile. "I know. Anyway, I was asking if you wanted me to bring you some coffee."

"Oh. Okay, sure."

 _At least there are some things that never change. Thank God._

* * *

When they landed, Reid waited until the others had moved past him before beginning the arduous task of getting up the aisle. He was too focused to hear the words of his female colleagues in the galley.

"You have him?" asked Emily.

JJ nodded. "I'll stay back and help him down. You've got yours?"

Her dark-haired friend nodded. "I'll take him home." Thinking to herself, and smiling wryly. "So he can tell me again how he doesn't need me to do it."

JJ nodded in sympathy. "At least mine doesn't fight me. He knows he can't get in or out of the plane without help."

"That's because he's a genius."

JJ laughed. "No, it's because he tried, and almost killed himself, before I came up behind him. Then I verbally knocked a few more IQ points back into his head."

* * *

A day later, Reid just barely caught the brown file folder tossed his way, with a little more force than was necessary.

"What's this?" He asked his unit chief.

"You told me you were cleared to travel. You lied."

"No, I didn't! I _am_ a doctor, so technically, it wasn't a lie."

Garcia didn't even try to restrain herself. "What was it, then?"

"Second opinion?"

Rossi tried not to look amused, which wasn't all that difficult, given the case they'd been called out to. But part of him sent a silent 'Atta boy!' to Reid for the young man's having tried to return to active duty before he'd been officially released to do so. It was something Rossi would do, and in fact, _had_ done, a time or three.

For his part, Reid was sorry to have been caught out, but relieved at the familiarity of the expression on Hotch's face. He'd been the recipient of the same kind of slightly bemused reprimand before, and it was perversely comforting to have received it once again.

 _He's still in there. It's just taking him a little longer to find his way back out._

So Reid was relegated to assisting with the case remotely, from within the confines of Garcia's lair.

'Her bitch' she'd called him, and he hadn't quite understood that. All it meant was that he would communicate with the others by phone, rather than in person. Except that he came to wish he was communicating over his _own_ phone, from his _own_ cubicle. Working with Garcia could be fun, as he'd learned in the past. _Sharing_ with Garcia was a different matter entirely.

From a distance, it was hard to gauge, but he gathered that there was something about this case that was proving difficult for Rossi. The killings had occurred in Rossi's home town, which might be understandably emotional, especially since Commack, Long Island wasn't anywhere near as large as, say, Las Vegas. But it sounded like there was something a little more personal in there, although Reid couldn't tell what it was. He found himself worrying about his older colleague, and wishing he could be there to see for himself or, at the very least, to express his sympathy.

But then his concern turned to JJ who, as he'd just seen on the news report, had been standing right next to the judge when there came the unmistakable sound of gunshots being fired. The camera had been focused on the judge, who'd been speaking just before he'd fallen. After that, the camera operator began transmitting random scenes taking place in the chaos that followed the shooting. All Reid could see was bedlam. Then he heard Rossi's voice, shouting orders…..and then, maybe, Morgan's voice, more distant from the microphone. All Reid could do was to mentally conjure the scene. Once he had, his heart began to race, and he grabbed the communications mic.

"JJ! Are you all right? JJ!"

"Is she all right?! _Anyone!_ Is JJ all right?!"

The response was agonizingly slow in coming, as Reid and Garcia exchanged anxious looks. But finally, after what seemed like hours, but was only four minutes and thirty-seven seconds, they heard Morgan.

"She's all right, Kid. She's not hit. She's just….. the shot threw everything in her direction."

Garcia looked puzzled, but Reid understood. Morgan was telling them that JJ was covered in someone else's blood and tissue.

 _She's gotten used to the bodies. But this is completely different. To be right next to someone..._

"Morgan, get her inside. She needs to be inside."

He didn't know how he knew that, but he did.

"Got it, Kid. I'll take care of her."

* * *

The case was over, the team on its way home. Technically, Reid could have left at any time. But he held back, wanting to see them for himself.

 _Hotch…..and something's going on with Rossi and this case….and now, JJ._

The practical side of Reid knew his presence in New York wouldn't have made a difference to any of it. But the emotional side of him was insistent.

 _You need to double up on PT until you get clearance!_

He couldn't let the team go out a man down again. Not again.

Reid looked up when he caught motion in his peripheral vision. Hotch pushed the glass doors open, and went immediately to the staircase. Emily came in behind him, headed for her desk, and Morgan did the same. Rossi followed, holding the door open for JJ, before heading to his office.

Reid called her over. "You don't need to go upstairs. I've got your stuff."

Frustrated at not being able to be present to her, he'd done the only thing he could think of, to be of help.

JJ followed his direction. "Oh. Okay, thanks. I guess."

He studied her. She'd obviously cleaned up, but it was still in her eyes.

He waited until she was close enough that only the two of them could hear.

"Are you all right? I was worried."

Her sad smile came out once again, as she laid a hand on his arm.

"No. But I will be." Gathering her things from his desk, she turned back to him. "Thanks for worrying."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

He reached for his messenger bag, and was slinging it over his shoulder when Rossi came back down the stairs, in time to hear JJ offer her friend a ride home.

"Why don't I do that?" said the senior profiler. "It will let JJ get home a little faster, and she's had a long day."

Reid might have refused Rossi's offer, but he agreed that what was best for JJ was to get home to her son and his father. So he quickly accepted, and bid her goodnight.

"Give Henry a hug for me, okay? I'll see you tomorrow." And he left with Rossi.

As they made their way across the parking lot, the senior agent took note of how facile Reid was getting with his crutches. It reminded him of how the case had begun, yesterday morning.

"So you faked your medical release, eh?" Making no attempt to mask the approval in his tone.

"I _amended_ it. I figured I could just as easily sit it out wherever we set up as well as I can here. And at least I'd be closer to the case. I could do some interviews, and I could see _all_ of the evidence, not just what gets uploaded."

Arriving at Rossi's vehicle, Reid made his way over to the passenger side. Rossi chimed the doors open, and watched as Reid managed to get his crutches into the back seat, and then hop his way into the front passenger seat.

"All right, so you can maneuver your way pretty well, when you have to. So what's the deal with not flying?"

Reid shrugged. "I don't think it's the flying so much. It's the getting in and out of the jet."

Now Rossi understood. The jet's stairs were narrow and steep, and he couldn't picture Reid managing them with his crutches.

"How did you do it on our last case?"

"JJ".

"What, did she carry you?"

Reid snorted. "No! She 'spotted' me while I hopped the steps. I couldn't use the crutches, so she had to carry them, but I could hold on to the railings on either side."

"That must have taken a while."

"It did. I'm going to ask my PT to help me practice it, so I won't have to miss any more time."

Rossi nodded his approval. "I'll put in a good word with our unit chief."

Reid grinned. "Thanks."

As the car turned out toward the road, Rossi turned to his passenger.

"I suppose I couldn't interest you in a cocktail?"

"A cocktail?"

"I could use a drink, young Spencer. Will you join me?"

Reid remembered that sense he'd had, that Rossi had been troubled by this case.

"Uh…sure, why not?"

"Really?"

 _I'm going out drinking with Spencer Reid. Who'da believed?_

"If you want to, I'm in."

* * *

It turned out that Rossi knew the owner of this place, too. One look at Reid's leg, and they were escorted to a booth that allowed him to prop it up appropriately. Rossi ordered his beloved scotch, Reid a diet coke.

Rossi's brows had gone up after hearing the younger man's order.

"Diet coke?"

"Liquor messes up my circadian rhythm. I won't be able to sleep if I have a drink this late. Most people think that alcohol induces sleep. In the short term, it does. But once it's metabolized, you become wakeful, usually in the middle of the night."

Rossi recognized the pattern, having lived it so many times before.

 _Kid's right. But, what the hell. I wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight, anyway._

Once the drinks arrived, Rossi seemed content to consume his in silence. But Reid was too curious to let him.

"So….you grew up in Commack?"

"Yep. Born and bred."

"Have you been back much?"

"Not in a very long time."

"Oh. Has it changed much?"

Struggling to find the right way to get at whatever had troubled his older colleague.

Said colleague shrugged. " _It_ changed. _I_ changed. It happens, I guess."

Reid nodded. "It does. But some things must be the same, right? Are there still people you knew living there? Friends, maybe?"

Rossi took another sip of his drink as he looked into the middle distance.

"My best friends are all gone. One was lost in the war….one moved out to the west coast….. and one died just a couple of years ago."

The older man was making no effort to control his microexpressions, which gave it away to the younger.

 _That's it. The one who died recently. The death that triggered the whole thing._

He confirmed it with Rossi.

"Are you talking about the judge's wife? I know you knew her, but…..was she your best friend?"

Rossi's eyes came back to his companion.

"Best friend and first love."

"You were in love with her?"

"Well, I was only twelve, at the time. But what boy hasn't fallen in love at twelve?"

The look on Reid's face told him he'd just met his first.

"You?"

Reid took a moment to assemble his words.

"It's not that I wasn't in love. It's more that I was a foot and a half shorter than all the girls I fell in love with. I was a senior in high school when I was twelve. I wasn't even in puberty yet."

That was met with a soft chuckle.

"Of course, I forgot who I was talking to. So, the girls didn't exactly reciprocate, I take it?"

"Reciprocate? Are you kidding? They were more likely to give me a pat on the head."

 _Or a note to meet one of them on the football field._

But he wasn't ready to share that with Rossi. Not yet, and probably not ever. He didn't want to be perceived as weak, even if the event was long in his past. It still made _him_ feel weak, to think about it.

Reid tried to shift the subject back to Rossi.

"So…..were you still friendly later? Were you still in love?"

Rossi took a long draught before responding. When he placed his glass down, there was a look of regret on his face.

"I left Commack to join the army, and then the FBI, and then the BAU. It all seemed so important, then."

"So..you never kept in touch?"

Rossi wiggled his head back and forth. "A little, here and there. A high school reunion, once. A mutual friend's wedding. And then, I got the invitation to _her_ wedding."

 _And then, it was too late._

Reid knew Rossi had been married three times, but he knew nothing about any of the women. Now he was hearing of a fourth who'd captured the man's heart.

"Did you go?"

The older man shook his head slowly back and forth.

"No. For me, it wasn't something to celebrate."

Matters of the heart still fascinated Reid, in a way that they'd done since his childhood. His mother had been a professor of medieval literature before her illness rerouted her brain. Her primary focus had been romance literature, which she'd often read aloud to her son. He'd become a fan of the happy ending, but entirely understood the utility of the bittersweet. He couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Rossi, do you ever wish you'd stayed with her? I mean…. You got married three times after that. You were in love with three more women. Would you have given up the chance to be in love with all of the rest, to stay with the first?"

Rossi spent a long moment staring at his younger companion. Reid had just verbalized the internal debate that had been raging all day. And he wasn't ready to address it with this young innocent, or anyone else, until he'd had it out with himself. He downed the rest of his drink.

"C'mon, let's get out of here. It's been a long day, and tomorrow will come soon enough."

Upset with himself for having precipitated such a reaction from Rossi, Reid didn't know whether to apologize or just let it go. But the maneuvers needed to get himself back on his feet, and his crutches under him, took his concentration, and made the decision for him.

 _Keep your mouth shut._

Which he did, until Rossi opened the conversation again, once they were under way.

"So, if not at twelve, have you ever been in love?"

Reid recognized the question as the defense mechanism it was, effectively putting the ball back into his court. And he felt he owed it to Rossi to parry. So he answered.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Throwing a sideways glance toward the passenger seat.

"I don't. I mean… I met a girl once, and… and she kissed me."

The poor kid still sounded dumbfounded at that, to the point where Rossi had to restrain a chuckle.

"Who was she? How did you meet? And, pray tell, what made her decide to kiss you?"

Reid kept his gaze firmly ahead, glad of the darkness inside the car. Best not to let Rossi see the redness he could feel creeping up his neck.

"Her name was Lila. I met her on a case. She was an actress….still is, actually. And she had a stalker who was threatening her life. Gideon had me stay with her while we worked the case, and….."

"Ooh. Smooth."

"Hmph. Not really. I was trying to help her out of the pool, and she pulled me in, and…..and then she kissed me."

Rossi conjured a mental picture of it.

 _Actress, so probably pretty. Kid's not bad looking, when he combs his hair. Both of them in wet clothes, clinging…kissing…_

"So, was she your first?"

Reid's head turned quickly in Rossi's direction.

"My first?"

"You know..." The Italian hands gesturing to indicate what he meant.

Head turned forward once again, eschewing eye contact.

"She was my first kiss."

 _Oops. My bad._ Rossi tried to salvage the situation.

"Well, you were in the middle of a case, it would have been unprofessional. So, did you keep in touch after that?"

"A couple of e-mails, and a postcard from France. Then _she_ got really busy, and you know how busy _we_ always are, and.."

"And that was the end of it. Believe me, Kid, I know it well."

Rossi had just pulled to the curb in front of Reid's apartment building.

"So, do you need a ride in the morning?"

"No, thanks anyway. I talked Garcia into picking me up early, so I can work out a little bit."

"Ah, good idea. It will help me sell your return to the team to Hotch."

Reid had turned to head inside, but then leaned back into the window.

"Rossi?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know where the gym is?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 7**

Their next case was local, which gave Reid a stay of execution regarding plane travel. But his injury still hampered him to a degree, as it kept him from visiting a crime scene.

Not that the locals would have known that. Because Hotch sent Rossi, Morgan and Prentiss up the long staircase to go inside the townhouse, "while Reid, JJ and I run the case from out here.'

Reid didn't really care if they were in public, and he didn't care if it was unmanly. He could have kissed Hotch for that subtle showing of patience and support. He'd begun to feel like he'd become a drain on the team, as he progressed through his physical therapy at snail-like speed.

"It's not your fault, Spence." JJ had been the only one he'd felt comfortable admitting it to. "I went to that appointment with you, remember? The doctor said it would take longer without stronger pain control. Something about the muscles still going into spasm, or something? Whatever. All I know is, it's not your fault, so please stop talking about yourself that way."

She'd been right about the reason it was taking so long. Non-narcotic pain relief was inadequate for his injury, and the resulting stiffness impeded his recovery. But, to Reid's mind, she was wrong about it not being his fault. He knew she saw it that way, the whole thing with Hankel. He even knew that she felt like a good part of it was _her_ fault, and he loved her for that. But he didn't agree with her.

So he still felt awkward about the team having to make accommodations for him, even if Hotch tried to make it look like business as usual to local law enforcement. His distress was not lost on the most experienced profiler on the team, as he discovered at their next meeting together. This one took place over sandwiches in Rossi's office, as both men stayed late to read through drafts of a few new chapters.

"Take a look at these early ones, and tell me what you think. Remember, I'm supposed to be bringing a 'younger voice' to this new book. My editor thinks I need to start appealing to a new audience."

Reid, by now aware of the reason he'd been invited to help with the book, had a ready answer.

"I've been doing some research, and it's actually pretty fascinating. The linguistics of millennial speech have evolved more rapidly, and more drastically, than in any other time in the past five centuries."

"That's because of texting, right? Like 'LOL'?"

Proud of himself for knowing a little text-speak, hoping Reid wouldn't pick up that he'd just exhausted that knowledge.

"Not really. I mean, that's just a representation of three separate words. It's like creating an acronym for common speech. There's precedent for acronyms. But what we've seen happen with modern language is the misuse of nominalization."

"The misuse of what?"

"Nominalization. The turning of verbs into nouns."

Rossi was lost now. "Explain, please."

"Okay, here's an example. Have you ever heard the expression, 'the reveal'?"

"You mean like, on those home makeover shows?"

"I guess," said the young man, who watched only science-fiction DVDs. "I just remember hearing Garcia telling JJ about something, and that's what she called it. But, the thing is, 'reveal' is a verb. You can't have 'a reveal' or 'the reveal'. You can have a revelation, but not a reveal."

The author nodded. "Okay, yeah, I see what you mean. It's like when you have a 'fail', instead of a 'failure'."

"Exactly!" Reid was enthused about the common ground. "That's one of the phenomena of linguistic change. Another is the misuse of the process of expansion from a noun root to a verb that doesn't exist."

"Like?"

"Like 'conversate'. There's no such word. People use it because they think it stems from 'conversation' as a root word. But the thing is, they're wrong on both counts. The root form is actually the verb, or more precisely, the infinitive, 'to converse'."

"Ah," said Rossi, pushing back in his wheeled office chair. "Yes, that's definitely a pet peeve."

"Right, exactly! It drives me crazy."

Rossi began rocking in his chair. "Me as well. But, young Spencer, how does this help us? I mean…..do I have to _write_ like that?"

Horror showed itself on Reid's face. "NO!" Then, realizing, "I mean… I can't tell you what to do, but…well, I wouldn't. Why not show them how it's supposed to be said? Shouldn't literature teach us something?"

Rossi harrumphed. "I don't know that anyone has ever accused any of my books of being 'literature'. But I get what you mean. I think I should continue to write in complete sentences, using words that are commonly recognized as such."

"Yes!"

"But I need to have a youthful perspective. I think that's what my editor really wants. I need to focus on the things that younger people care about."

Reid thought for a long moment, feeling the weight of responsibility to represent a generation he did _not_ feel a part of.

"Maybe you should just write in the first person."

"Meaning?"

Reid shifted, thinking of how to phrase it. "Well, there is a certain cult of personality out there, right? People relating with people they don't really know, mostly via the internet. Sometimes, it makes them feel like they even know celebrities personally, because they can reach them directly through email or personal messages, things like that. If you write in the first person, they'll feel like you're telling each of them a story, they'll _connect_ with you."

Rossi considered it. "So, instead of writing in the third person, as in 'this happened' or 'that happened', I should write as 'I did thus and such'?"

His young companion nodded. "Yes. I think it would make the reader relate with you personally, and that's what the millennial generation is all about. The world has become a smaller place, and everyone likes to feel like they are an immediate, integral, part of it."

The older man chewed on the end of his pen for a bit.

"Okay, I can do that. But I will still refuse to 'nominalize' inappropriately. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Okay, so tell me a story, in the first person."

"Me?!" The genius now suddenly self-conscious.

"Yes, you. What's the matter? You've been telling me about cases right along."

"But….they weren't for the book. I was just telling _you."_

"So, now _you_ tell _me_ , and I tell everybody else. What's the difference?"

"I…I don't…."

Rossi took pity on his young companion.

"Tell you what….let's go with a theme. You tell one, I tell one. Tell me about one that you can't let go of."

In retrospect, Rossi was surprised at how readily a case came to Reid's mind. Then, he realized he shouldn't have been.

"Adam."

"Adam?" Not quite placing the name.

"Adam….and Amanda."

Now it rang a bell.

"The DID case? In South Padre?"

Reid nodded. "Adam was a victim. Amanda was the one who committed those murders."

Rossi was familiar with the concept of dissociative identity disorder, but he'd never mastered the art of separating the person from the illness. To him, it didn't matter if it had been Adam or Amanda who'd committed the crimes. But he was intrigued that Reid could differentiate.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"How do you generate sympathy for a serial killer?"

Reid put down the pencil he'd been twiddling.

"Adam isn't a serial killer. He's someone who was mistreated as a child, and who developed an alter personality because of it. Adam's alter committed those murders."

Rossi shook his head. "I get the idea that the other personality was behind the crimes. But the physical action was perpetrated by Adam's hands."

Reid corrected him. "The hands belong to both of them. Adam wasn't controlling them when they killed those people."

Rossi stared at his younger colleague for long enough to make Reid feel uncomfortable. The BAU founder had a natural inclination to condemn all those who committed such heinous crimes. But he'd long ago noticed that his younger companion didn't. And he wanted to understand. He _needed_ to understand.

"I'm back to my original question. How do you do that?"

This time, Reid understood. "How do I separate the crime from the person who commits it?"

"Something like that, yes."

The young man shrugged. "I lived the whole of my childhood with someone who couldn't be held responsible for her actions. Mom had good days and bad. On her bad days, sometimes, she did bad things. Not murder, no!" Having seen Rossi's brows go up. "But things she regretted, later, when she had her moments of clarity. I saw her, Rossi. The real person. And I knew how much it hurt her to know what she'd done when she wasn't in control."

This wasn't the first time Rossi found himself wondering what Reid's childhood had really been like, nor would it prove to be the last. But, for all they'd shared to date, he still didn't feel comfortable probing. So he kept his remark neutral.

"Schizophrenia is different."

"Not that different. It's just another form of malfunction. Think about it. We found our identities on our thought processes. We _are_ who we _think_ we are. At the moment each of those murders was committed, the entity whose thought process was in control was Amanda. Adam was always an innocent."

"And you're still trying to save him?" He'd heard about Reid's visits to that particular psychiatric institution.

The younger man shrugged. "He needs to know that someone knows he's in there. That someone saw it, back then."

Rossi studied his teammate again. "How was it that _you_ saw it? How _did_ you recognize that there was an alter?"

Reid wasn't quite ready to share with Rossi about how his own life experience had taught him to recognize the process of DID in action. Not now, and maybe not ever. So he changed the subject.

"Weren't we talking about cases we couldn't let go of? Didn't _you_ have one?"

Knowing full well that Rossi had, because the rest of the team had gotten involved in resolving it Without thinking, he pushed a little more.

"Wasn't that the thing that _really_ brought you back to the BAU?"

Even as the words left his mouth, Reid couldn't believe he'd been so bold. But he'd been desperate not to talk about that thing that was still so hard to talk about, and the words had just slipped out.

"Whoa, there, young fella. What made you say that?"

The color of Reid's face matched the maroon stripe in Rossi's carpet.

"I just…..sorry. I just … _.wasn't_ it? A case out in Indianapolis?"

"You weren't there." Not quite an admission, but….

"No, I was with Hotch, in Connecticut."

Rossi nodded. "Right. Chester Hardwick. He told me about that. He told me what you did."

The genius was surprised. "He did?"

"Yep. Said he was proud of you."

"He _did_?"

One more time, and it might qualify as a mantra.

"He did. Hotch said he was off his game, and you and your brain saved both of your behinds."

Reid remembered that day. He would never forget the fright of being isolated with an unrestrained serial killer, that was a given. But that wasn't the only reason the day stayed with him. It was the intimacy of Hotch sharing his personal distress that gave the day its staying power. Aaron Hotchner hadn't simply been his unit chief that day. He'd been Reid's friend, needing a shoulder to lean on. And it had been the first time Reid had felt like he'd _had_ shoulders that strong.

"He'd been served….you know, with the papers from Haley. He didn't want the divorce, but he felt like he had already caused her enough pain."

"They still loved each other." Rossi corrected himself. "Forget the past tense. They _do_ still love each other. And, one day, they'll figure that out."

"You think?"

"I know. You are talking to the master of divorce, remember? I know what it's like to love 'em and lose 'em, and what it's like to just completely fail at love altogether. Trust me. They'll find a way to make it back to one another."

"I hope so!" Remembering the distinctly sad demeanor of his unit chief on that particular day. "I hope Hotch will be happy again."

"As do I, young Spencer, as do I."

"So….about that case?"

The older man emitted a long sigh. "All right, if we must. This was a case where I failed a family of three kids, whose parents were killed right in front of them, on Christmas Eve, of all days."

Reid heard the recrimination in Rossi's voice, and felt a desire to protect the man from himself.

"How did you fail them?" His tone challenging the very idea of failure.

"I didn't catch the killer, obviously."

"But…we _don't_ always catch the killer. That's how we study their behaviors, right? Because they kill again." Then, wondering, "Are you saying that you didn't catch him a _prior_ time, and that's how you failed the children?"

The younger man seemed to be trying to make a point, but Rossi wasn't having it.

"No, we were only called in _after_ these parents were killed. But I owed the kids justice, and I didn't deliver."

Though he'd spoken quietly, Rossi's tone had been filled with vehemence, and Reid knew he should tread lightly. So he lowered his voice to just above a whisper.

"Justice wouldn't have brought their parents back, Rossi. The only thing you could have done was to prevent a subsequent death. You couldn't have made life any better for them."

Rossi recognized the truth of it. The story had unfolded exactly as Reid described. The family in question had fallen apart, the children's lives in ruins. Rossi had stayed in touch with them, despite their wishes. He'd even provided a roof over their heads, though unknown by them.

 _But none of that kept them whole. And now my young friend here is telling me that none of their pain was because of me. If only I could believe that._

When Rossi remained silent, Reid continued. "But, even though you knew you couldn't change what had happened, you kept at it, right? You kept thinking about that case, and working it, in pieces…"

"A little at a time…" Clearly still lost in reverie.

"Until you found him. You didn't let go of the case, and you solved it."

" _We_ solved it. Your colleagues took it upon themselves to come out and help me with it."

Reid was familiar with the story. He'd been a bit worried about JJ's job after that. Something about 'unauthorized use of the jet'. But, once they were all back in Quantico, Hotch had apparently read the relief in Rossi's features, and retroactively approved it as an official BAU case.

"Okay, so it took the team" acknowledged Reid. "But it was resolved. Or as resolved as any of our cases ever are."

"So it was. And it did seem to help the family a bit. Maybe it brought them a little closure."

Reminding Reid of a conversation he'd had with a long-grieving father, about the trial of his daughter's killer.

"There really is no such thing as closure. There's only a moving on. A feeling of becoming 'unstuck'."

The older man stared into the distance, his head rising and falling in a slow nod.

"Time begins again, and they can move forward. Maybe that's all I… _we_ ….really gave those kids." Thinking a moment longer, then issuing a guffaw. "Hmph! Maybe we were _all_ stuck in time. I'd always thought of them as the kids they'd been that terrible night. But they're all adults now. Guess I couldn't move on, either."

"But you did, right? After you caught the killer?"

There was an urgency to the young man's voice, telling Rossi that the question wasn't as straightforward as it seemed. So he took his time crafting a response.

"I guess I did. But that doesn't mean there won't be another killing, or another family, that gets under my skin. It's a hazard of the job, Spencer. One I'd rather have, than not."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that, the only way not to fall into caring too much is to not care at all. And I've seen _that_ happen to more people than I like to think about. It's not pretty. And I don't want it to happen to me."

Reid sat with the thought for a few moments. He'd spent many a sleepless night because of the work they did, and many an hour of daylight pondering. Adam's case wasn't the only one that had gotten to him. He could only wonder how many more there would be, before there had been too many. Still...

"I don't want it to happen to me, either."

The older man patted the younger on the back.

"Somehow, I don't think you'll have to worry about that."


	8. Chapter 8

**Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 8**

He'd dreamt last night. Not just one dream, maybe three, or even four. Reid had trouble sorting them out, unable to tell which beginning went with which middle. All he knew for certain was that none of them had ended.

 _Must have been the Indian food._

But he'd had Indian food plenty of times before. He'd even eaten from that particular restaurant many times in the past.

 _No_ , he had to conclude, _it couldn't have been the food._ _It had to have been the conversation._

After a few hours of working on the book, Rossi had offered to drive Reid home, and insisted on stopping to pick up some sustenance from one of Reid's local haunts. The two had carried on their discussion for a few more hours after dinner, with Reid doing most of the talking. In retrospect, he realized he'd been treated to the receiving end of Rossi's expert interviewing techniques, as the older man had drawn a number of stories out of him. And it had left him decidedly uncomfortable.

Reid was a ruminator. He'd examined every single case he'd ever experienced inside and out, a select few getting more than their share of scrutiny. But he'd done it all rapid fire, within the confines of his own mind. Having someone else to discuss them with was a rarity, outside the environment of the jet. An occasional drink with Morgan, or a dinner with Emily, a few late night conversations with JJ, until little ears made those impossible.

Outside of those, all-too-few, conversations, he'd never had to actually put things into words. He'd gotten by with an impression, a vivid scene played out behind his eyes, an unstated analysis and, most often, a studious avoidance of the emotions roiling within.

But Rossi had drawn it out of him, made him verbalize, and he still wasn't settled about it.

They'd talked about fear, and loss. It had started simply enough, with Rossi asking about turnover in the team since Reid had been a member. He'd known Gideon, of course. But Elle Greenaway he'd only met by reputation.

Reid thought back to that conversation of last evening.

* * *

"She left a year or so before I came back, right? Greenaway?"

Reid nodded. "Elle. She just... she got shot in her own home. We almost lost her that night."

His voice trailed off, and he lapsed into the kind of silence that told Rossi he was reflecting on something.

"What are you thinking about?"

Reid shook himself out of it. "I was thinking... that might have been when we started to lose Gideon, too. When Elle was shot."

"He felt responsible?"

The young man shrugged. "I think he and Hotch both did. But it wasn't their fault. They couldn't have known. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"Elle was attacked in her own home. And so was Hotch."

Rossi recognized the look in his colleague's eyes because he'd seen it in each of the others' as well. They were all worried about Hotch, about what the attack might have done to him. They already knew what it had done to his family, such as it was. The senior agent issued his best assurance, even if it was, admittedly, lacking.

"Hotch isn't going anywhere. He's got two very personal reasons to stay and get the job done."

That was small comfort to Reid. "Elle made it personal, too. That's when it got to be too much for her. I saw that she was hurting, and that she wasn't acting like herself, and I didn't say anything to Hotch or Gideon."

Rossi had heard Hotch's version of Elle Greenaway's spin out of control. "I think they were pretty aware, Spencer. They tried to help her, but she resisted them."

"I tried to help her, too. But I wasn't enough."

Rossi heard it. 'I' wasn't enough, not 'it' wasn't enough. He was beginning to understand just how much his young colleague seemed determined to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Rossi did his best to lighten the load.

"She may have been too lost, my friend. But she did the right thing, choosing to leave. It's just possible that what you said to her helped to bring her back from whatever dark path she'd been on."

Reid turned hopeful eyes to his senior. "Do you think so?"

"Why not?"

The smallest of smiles lifted the corners of the genius' lips. "Why not?"

Pleased with the minor good deed, Rossi advanced the subject a bit.

"We didn't have much problem with turnover, back in the day. It was really only myself and Gideon. We had guys like Max Ryan to help us out with some cases. Ryan was really the first profiler, when I think about it. He planted the seed in Gideon's mind, and Jason and I grew it together. But, apart from him, and some guys on loan for one or another case, we _were_ the BAU."

"And then you left." An observation, not a question.

Rossi was lost to reminiscence, until Reid cleared his throat.

"Sorry. Just remembering. I guess, when you think about it, I _was_ the first turnover."

It was an opening Reid hadn't quite acknowledged looking for. But he'd always wondered.

"Why _did_ you leave?"

Rossi took the question as an opportunity to top off his wine. Reid declined the same offer.

A sip or two later, the elder profiler was ready. Or as ready as he would ever be.

"If I told you I understood it, I'd be lying. Not for want of trying, mind you. I spent many a night with Johnny Walker back then, trying to figure it out."

Reid couldn't restrain it. "Johnny Walker?" He'd never seen Rossi drink anything but the best.

The older man lifted a brow at him.

"This was _before_ my books."

"Ah. I get it."

"So, as I was saying, it wasn't something I planned. I'm not sure I even decided to do it. All I knew was that I went in to the BAU one day, and when it was time to go home, I found a box, packed up my things and left. I called my section chief from home, and told him I wouldn't be back."

"And that was it?"

"That was it."

That surprised Reid as much as it must have surprised the section chief. And it sounded very similar to what had happened with Gideon, minus the disappearing act. Suddenly, Reid felt an intense need to probe.

"But…how did you _know_? In all that time you spent thinking about it afterward, did you ever come to understand it?"

Rossi heard the urgency in his young colleague's voice, as well as the unspoken question.

 _He needs to know, for Gideon. And, just maybe, for himself. Don't we all wonder how long we can keep at a job like ours?_

Realizing the importance of his response, he took a long moment to assemble his thoughts.

"Understanding was the issue. At least, that's what I came to conclude. I needed to understand… _.everything_. How a human being becomes a predator. Why I felt such a need, personally, to catch them. What it was doing to me, to be around death, and depravation, and insanity, nearly every waking hour of my life."

Reid leaned forward, elbows on knees, literally holding his breath in anticipation.

"Did you ever figure it out?"

Rossi's lips curved into a regretful smile. "I tried. I thought, maybe, if I could force myself to put it into words, I could tame it. I could see its limits, and it wouldn't be so intimidating. Hence, the books."

To Reid's memory, intimidation was something Rossi _did_ , not something he experienced. The surprise must have been evident on his face.

"What, you think I've never been scared?"

"Have you?" Realizing, even as the words left his mouth that, just how much hero-worshipping he'd visited upon Rossi.

The veteran agent poured a little more wine into his glass.

"Spencer, I'm scared every time I know there's someone lying at the mercy of the predator I'm hunting. I'm scared every time I find one of them, that I won't be able to take them down before they have a chance to hurt one more innocent."

Reid shook it off. That wasn't what he'd asked.

"But….for _you_. Haven't you ever been scared for _you_?"

There such intensity in Reid's gaze, and just enough of a quiver to his voice, and, suddenly, Rossi understood. Reid was talking about a different kind of fear, one exponentially more rattling than walking into an unknown situation. Reid was talking about terror. Mortal terror.

Rossi placed his wineglass back on the table, and leaned forward. He had reason to believe his young companion was all too familiar with the kind of fear they were talking about now. He'd heard about it through the FBI grapevine, and then he'd touched on it in one of his conversations with Hotch. But he'd never talked about it with Reid, not before this moment. He knew, instinctively, that he would have to be careful with his response.

"I've been scared every time I've come face to face with evil, Spencer. Rocked on my foundation, in fact, a couple of times. It was like that thing that Nietzsche wrote…..it was Nietzsche, wasn't it? Something like, 'Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.'

If Reid was surprised that Rossi could quote Friedrich Nietzsche, it didn't show in his features. Because those features were in the process of being covered by a shield, as blatantly as if it had been a real one.

Reid was less skilled with his microexpressions than were his more experienced colleagues. Still, an uninitiated observer might have been fooled into thinking the young man unaffected by Rossi's words. But Rossi was anything but an uninitiated observer. He saw it instantly, both the shield and the anguish it was so poorly attempting to hide.

He laid a hand lightly on the knee of the younger man. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Reid eschewed eye contact, his head already moving back and forth in denial, even before Rossi had finished his sentence.

The senior profiler was in a quandary. Clearly the subject matter was difficult for Reid. Clearly it had touched on something unresolved in the young man, something Rossi wasn't at all sure he had any business uncovering. The two had shared some revealing conversations, it was true. But nothing deep. Certainly not deep enough to grant him access to this.

 _But he's lost. He's brilliant, and talented, and he comes to work and gets the job done, and I've taken all of that for granted. But, underneath…he's lost. Why didn't I see that before?_

Even as he asked himself the question, Rossi was aware that he already had the answer.

 _Because I didn't want to. I didn't care. I never bothered to look hard enough, because I just dismissed him as a caricature. And now.._

Now, the young genius had gotten under Rossi's skin, no longer a cartoonish representation of a human being, but the real thing. And, in the process of burrowing beneath Rossi's tough integument, Reid had awakened something within the older man. Something he hadn't felt in a very long time. Three decades worth of time.

Back then, it had been a newborn baby boy in his arms, already actively dying even as he'd taken his first breath. The memory came flooding back, of that moment, of that contact between them, father and son. How his arms had tried to infuse a lifetime of love into just a few brief minutes. How they'd tried to convey all of the lost hopes and dreams of the preceding months. How they'd begged forgiveness of him, the father who could put away the worst of the worst, but could not save his son from the failure of a malformed heart. How his own heart had felt newly malformed, and remained so, for years afterward.

He felt a pang in that heart, once again. Reshaped, now, through years of life experience, but still tender, if only in a few remaining spots. Spencer Reid had just unwittingly found his way into one of those spots. And Rossi had no idea what to do about it.

 _Here, I thought I'd have a few meals with the kid, draw him out about a few things, maybe. But I never quite expected to reel him in._

The analogy came from one of his favorite avocations. Rossi had spent a good portion of his leisure time by the side of a stream, or waded fully into it. He enjoyed the quietness of it. Some part of him realized he did his best thinking in the water, even if he didn't usually know he was doing it. He thought about the ones he'd caught, and the ones who'd eluded him. But, right now, he was thinking of the ones who'd fought him. The ones he'd had to cut the line for. The ones he'd had to let get away.

 _For now, maybe. Just for now. Not forever._

His hand still resting lightly on Reid's knee, Rossi put more pressure behind it, once again falling to the visceral, when his words and wisdom failed him. The sensation drew Reid's eyes in his direction.

"I won't push you. But, if you ever want to talk….I'm always willing to listen."

Reid's gaze averted once again, as he shook his head.

"Thanks." He cleared the emotion from his throat. "Thanks. But I'm okay."

 _Sure you are. But we'll play it your way._

"Okay. Well, then, I think I'd better be going. Take a look at that last chapter, eh? We can talk about it in a couple of days, after you've had a chance to make some notes."

Reid gave him a small, wry smile. "I'm pretty sure we'll be able to talk about it tomorrow."

Rossi snorted. "Ah. Forgot who I was partnered with for a minute there. All right, young Spencer, I'm off."

Reid followed him to the door. "Thanks for springing for dinner."

Rossi was already out in the hallway before Reid called after him once again.

"Hey, Rossi?" Hesitating, then, "Thanks."


	9. Chapter 9

**Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 9**

Something was wrong, he could feel it. There was some kind of tension between Morgan and Hotch, and he didn't know why. Hotch seemed more intense than usual, if that was even possible. And Morgan seemed to swing back and forth between bewildered and annoyed. Reid didn't know how either man could deal with whatever they were dealing with, and still concentrate on the case. All he knew was that their odd moods, and whatever was between them, was distracting _him._

He was staring at a map when JJ came up behind him.

"Hey, Spence, how's it going? Got anything yet?"

Reid leaned heavily on his crutches and shook his head. "I feel like I _should_ be seeing something, but I'm not. I'm not looking at this the right way. I can feel it."

They'd been called out to a case where young women, mostly prostitutes, were being taken, impregnated, and then discarded, once they'd delivered. They were still investigating whether a series of infants left abandoned were the progeny of those women.

Reid had, finally, been granted 'official' permission to fly. But he was still on his crutches full time, and relegated to staying behind at whatever location the team set up shop. From that position, he'd had plenty of opportunity to observe the tension between his two male teammates. And he'd noticed that JJ had just left a conversation with Morgan.

"Everything okay?" he asked her.

"With me? Yeah, fine. Why?"

"I meant with Morgan. This morning, it sounded like Hotch had been sending him emails that had gotten him a little riled. And then it looked like they had words, a little while ago. Is there trouble? I mean, I guess I don't have the right to ask. Tell me to mind my own business, and I will. It's just….I'm worried."

JJ studied her best friend for a bit, considering. He was right, it really wasn't his business. Just as it wasn't hers. But, in truth, it was the business of all of them, considering how closely they worked together, and the high stakes of their product. And, besides, she'd already told Morgan.

With a sigh, she motioned Reid into a chair. "Sit. You look so uncomfortable like that."

He obeyed, grateful to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. But he wasn't about to admit to that.

"I'm getting used to it."

"Yeah, well, _I'm_ not. So humor me, okay?"

As he sat, they shared a look that sent the message, 'I know you too well' in both directions, and he smiled.

"So?" he encouraged her.

She told him. "So, before I left last night, I overheard Strauss talking to Hotch. She was basically giving him a vote of 'no confidence'. And I think he's afraid that she's going to pull him from the BAU. If she does, a new unit chief might be able to configure his own team, which might, or might not, include any or all of us."

He shouldn't have been shocked, given the amount of time he'd worried about Hotch, and the team, since the incident with Foyet. But hearing the same fear from someone else, someone whose judgment he trusted implicitly….Reid was, most definitely, shocked.

"But…but…they can't just replace a whole team! It takes a long time to get through the profiling courses. Well, for most people." It hadn't taken him long at all.

"They don't have to break up the whole team to change things. They could just move one or two, or three of us, around. That's all it would take."

He was almost sorry he'd asked, because hearing JJ put it into words made it real. Up until now, it had existed mostly as a nagging discomfort that he hadn't quite allowed his mind to fully articulate. He'd known Hotch might be at risk. But, now that JJ had said it, he had to acknowledge that some part of him had known all along that the entire team might be at risk. And he simply couldn't imagine his life without all of them in it.

JJ watched her friend completely deflate in the chair across from hers. She patted his shoulder as she stood, preparing to get back to her task, sorry that she couldn't spend more time alleviating his concern. Sorrier still that she couldn't alleviate her own concern, either.

"Hotch is on it, Spence. I don't know exactly what his plan is, but I can tell that he has one. We'll be okay."

Each of them got back to work, the hollowness of JJ's words echoing within.

* * *

Between them, Reid and Rossi figured it out. Although it required much squinting and a literal leap of faith, Reid discovered a geographic pattern to where the infants were being discarded. In a way that he once might have dismissed as unreasonable, the young genius used a combination of logic and intuitive assumption to discern the likely religious denomination of the unsub, thereby narrowing the location search parameters to churches of the same denomination. Rossi built on Reid's foundation by noticing that only female infants had been abandoned.

"He's keeping the boys."

Things moved rapidly from there, the breakthrough enabling Garcia to narrow the search. When it was over, and without actually verbalizing it, each man mused on the success of their tag team deductive exercise. Reid was honored that Rossi had made the leap of faith with him, while Rossi was tickled that he'd been able to see something their resident genius had not.

 _Who am I kidding? The only reason he didn't see it, was because he was looking in a different direction. He would have gotten there eventually. But he really did do some good work noticing about the churches. Kid's got some good natural detective skills in there._

Rossi hadn't been witness to JJ's conversations with Morgan and with Reid. But he'd noticed the same tension between Morgan and Hotch that Reid had, and had gone directly to the source. He'd quizzed his old friend, and left the exchange with little to show for it. Nothing Hotch told him had come as a surprise. Rossi had offered to try running interference with Erin Strauss, but he'd done so already knowing it would be fruitless. He actually agreed with the wisdom of Aaron's strategy of naming Morgan as the new unit chief, while he still had the authority to do so. He could only hope that his more junior colleagues would agree. But he could mention none of it to them, until it had been officially discussed with Derek Morgan.

As they flew back to Quantico, he watched Emily and JJ fuss over Reid, making sure he had a comfortable position for his ailing knee, bringing him his beloved coffee, which, apparently, only JJ knew how to 'doctor' just right. He mused on how the team had changed over the years he'd been back, even without a change in composition.

 _They're more mature. A little more jaded, sadly, but I suppose that's the cost of doing business. They separate themselves a little more. I can't remember the last time I saw a good all-in poker game going on the plane. Or even just a good, non-death related conversation._

Trying to think back, to remember how long it had taken the same transformation to happen to him, back in the day.

 _I don't know that it ever did, really. In some ways, I'm not sure we ever had that kind of closeness to lose. We did have our moments, Gideon and I. I remember that time we went sledding….ha! But I think we sobered up quickly enough. I'd already been to war, and left most of my youth in Vietnam. And Gideon….sometimes I think Gideon was born old. Maybe that's what drew him to Spencer._

Rossi had long ago pondered the team's youngest member's lack of youthfulness. Or, more aptly put, he'd been flummoxed at Reid's paradoxical blend of 'vintage' and 'world weary' with 'wonderment' and 'naivete'.

 _Maybe Jason was trying to recapture something he'd lost, by bringing a boy into his life. Maybe he never quite realized how much of a man Reid actually was, and is._

But Rossi had been realizing it, gradually. What had started in a moment of impulse, a few months back, had become a journey of discovery for David Rossi. He'd merely been innocently about the business of responding to editorial feedback, and he'd somehow found himself embroiled in a relationship unlike any other in his life.

Here was a young man, roughly the age of the son he'd lost so long ago. Once seen only as an inexperienced, inscrutable colleague, Reid had become a puzzle to be solved. One that _could_ be solved. Rossi had already seen some of the pieces fall into place. The spaces they'd left were oddly shaped and there were far too many to make out the picture they were forming. But there was enough there to intrigue the man, to make him want to fill in the gaps and see the finished work.

 _Except it won't be finished. He's too young. The best I can do is to is to try to comprehend a work in progress._

Rossi watched as Reid, now set up with a blanket, a pillow, his beloved coffee and a treasured book, began running his hands down the page. The BAU founder's eyes wandered across the aisle to where Emily and JJ sat, looking pleased at their handiwork. And then they moved to the troubled visages of Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner, each solitary, each looking out the window, toward uncertainty.

The elder statesman of the BAU sighed and closed his eyes.

 _Tomorrow is another day. And we'll deal with it._


	10. Chapter 10

_**A.N. Apologies for the delay. Couldn't write for a bit. I needed to recover a bit from our real-life dystopia before venturing back into CM fantasy.**_

* * *

 **Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 10**

Rossi was right. Tomorrow _was_ another day. When it became 'today', it brought with it both foreseen and unforeseen changes.

#####

JJ swept quickly down the stairs from the mezzanine. She'd become accustomed to keeping a lookout for Reid's arrival, and bringing him the cherished mug of coffee that he could no longer carry each morning. Spying him a moment ago, she'd spotted an additional reason to hurry down to greet him.

"Is that progress I see? Does this mean progress?"

Reid had put his crutches to the side and was in the process of sliding the strap to his messenger bag over his head.

"If you're talking about the brace, yes. But I think it will be a while before it's actually 'progress'. I was better at hopping on one foot than I am now that the brace lets me extend my leg all the way to the floor. I think it will take a while to get used to this."

"How much longer do they think you'll need the crutches?"

She held his chair steady as he tried to maneuver into it. _Looks like it might take a while to get used to sitting, too._

"Maybe a few weeks, maybe a month. Then I'm supposed to graduate to a cane. Think my dad will want to google my degree in 'crutchology'?"

"Kinesiology," corrected Emily, as she joined them in the bullpen. "Come on, genius, it's your knee that got shot, not your vocabulary."

A quick look around told her someone was missing from their usual 'downstairs crew'.

"Where's Morgan?"

Which was when Reid noticed it, too. Considering the strangeness of yesterday, he couldn't help but wonder if his male colleague's absence was ominous.

"His desk isn't cleaned up…" started Reid.

Prentiss spoke over him. "That doesn't mean anything. Look at mine, and I just got here."

The three of them looked at a surface strewn with files, some open, some in piles, one still serving as a coaster for the cup of coffee she'd been drinking before their last call-out.

Reid smirked at his good friend as he began. "Well, let's see. There's lipstick on the rim of the mug, so our unsub is likely female. The open files strewn on the desktop tell us that she's disorganized. I see a pen sticking out of that one in the far right corner, telling me that she distracts easily. And the sixteen files stacked in the left corner of the desk are evidence of her procrastination."

JJ grinned as Emily mocked indignation. The brunette profiler opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off when Reid had one further point to make.

"And these…." rummaging through the files on his own desk, "…..were not so subtly slipped into the stack of her co-worker, as evidenced by the fact that they are not in alphabetical order...not to mention that they're upside down. Which means she probably cheats at cards, too."

The blonde liaison laughed outright this time. "He's got you, Em."

Emily just waved her younger male colleague off. "You just can't stand the fact that I beat you at poker….fair and square, I might add."

"You did?" JJ sounded surprised. "I beat him at gin one time! Looks like you're slipping, Spence."

"How did this turn around on me? And besides, wasn't it Morgan we were wondering about?"

All three pairs of eyes moved instinctively upward, in the direction of their unit chief's office.

"Door's closed. Blinds, too," observed Emily.

JJ had more specific information. "Hotch is in there with Strauss. I don't know about Morgan, though. I got caught up in a phone call."

It was only a few seconds before they had to wonder no longer. The door to Hotch's office opened, dispensing Erin Strauss, Derek Morgan, and the BAU unit chief. As Strauss headed down the hallway past Rossi's office, the BAU elder joined his other colleagues.

The three in the bullpen did their best to read the expressions on their teammates' faces. From a distance, they could make out only a grimness, maybe a look of determination. Reid had come to know Rossi well enough to make out the resignation in the man's features. Looking down at his colleagues, Morgan motioned them upstairs, to meet in the conference room.

"Something's up," said Emily.

Reid could only heave a deep sigh. "Yeah. Change."

And all three of them knew how much he hated change.

"Go on up. I'll grab you some coffee." JJ handed Reid his crutches.

The young man looked his gratitude at her. "Can you…."

"No worries. I'll be right up."

She would remember the extra heaping teaspoon of sugar he always added when he was anxious.

"Thanks."

* * *

From the days of his youth, Spencer Reid had been a creature of habit. He'd found order in routine, and security in being able to anticipate the near future. As he'd grown older, and moved into the business of studying human behavior, he'd gone through the process of analyzing his own personal proclivities. After all this time, he still hadn't quite sorted out how much of his penchant for routine was from a child's attempt to impose order on the chaos of a household infused with the wildness of mental illness, and how much was just the innate leanings of a genius intellect.

It had intrigued him….bothered him a bit at first, if he was honest…..that the other members of the BAU had not seemed to share his inclination toward routine. Maybe it was too much to expect of those who interfaced so frequently with the fractalized intellects of the insane. Or maybe it was _exactly_ what to expect.

All Reid knew was that they'd never fallen into a routine. Never sat around the round table in exactly the same order, never chosen the same seats on the plane. Never even partnered with the same person to accomplish tasks, no matter that some of them had special expertise in certain fields. Maybe there was a method to the madness of Hotch's assignments. Maybe changing things up was good. Creative. Productive. Maybe 'random' was a worthy goal.

But, no matter the unpredictability of the seating arrangements, no matter the intermixing of roles, there were some things that _were_ routine. And one of them was _not_ happening now.

This time, it wasn't Hotch who was the last to enter the Round Table room, after ushering the others inside. And it wasn't Hotch who was starting the meeting off. It was Morgan. And he didn't look all that happy.

Hotch was stepping down, he explained. Technically, he was stepping _aside_. And he'd designated Morgan as his replacement. The team's composition would remain intact, even if the dynamics had just been turned inside out.

That was it. No explanation as to 'why', no addressing whether the change was permanent or not. Just a false assurance that nothing would change, when it was all too obvious that everything already had.

Reid cast his eyes around the table, briefly catching Emily's and JJ's in return. He felt, but did not see, the penetrating gaze of his now former unit chief, settling upon each of them in turn, the caretaker tending to his charges, even as he settled in amongst them once again. Morgan's eyes were steadfastly on the table in front of him.

Rossi tilted back in his chair, the better to take in the tableau. His experienced eyes took in the discomfort of nearly every person seated around the table….save one. Aaron Hotchner didn't look uncomfortable. He looked _driven._

 _He's got a plan. This isn't just about keeping the team together. This is about what it_ looks _like. What Foyet will think. Which means he believes Foyet has a way to watch us. All of us._

* * *

Morgan ran them through the case….an enucleator/serial killer in Oklahoma City. In spite of himself, Reid became intrigued with the unusual behavior of their unsub and launched into a mini-lesson on the phenomenon, bringing the team back into some semblance of normalcy, however tenuous it might be. The professional in each of them kept them focused on the case, even through the unfamiliarity of their group situation. Despite the length of their flight, there was virtually no banter, no attempt at lightheartedness to ease the inevitable transition into chasing a serial killer. The peculiarity of their situation was driven home, once again, when they landed, and Morgan led the team into their collaboration with the police.

With empathy, Rossi noted Morgan's discomfort with the liaison aspects of the case, despite JJ's steady assistance. It simply wasn't in the nature of either man to stay behind, figuring out the partnership relationships with local law enforcement. Morgan was virtually itching to be in the field and Rossi could easily relate. His younger self would have gladly preferred kicking down doors alongside Morgan to the paperwork responsibilities of being the unit chief.

 _Hell, the first time I realized I was getting too old for that, I retired! But then I realized I could just follow the young 'uns in the door._

And then there was Hotch. Rossi admired his old friend's ability to support Morgan's leadership while offering advice without looking like he lacked confidence. And he recognized, because he'd seen it all too often in his own mirror, the look of anticipation in Hotch's eyes. Not for the leadership role, nor the responsibility. Hotch was anxious to get back in the field full time.

 _Funny. I wouldn't have predicted it, so long ago. Not from my white-collar, lawyer friend. But he's had a taste of the satisfaction of putting away true evil, and he wants back at it. Maybe there's a hidden blessing in all of this._

Maybe something had been rekindled in Aaron Hotchner.

Reid, on the other hand, while able to contribute to the case, couldn't keep himself from being perturbed by the change in the team. It wasn't that he didn't have complete confidence in Morgan. He did. He'd placed his trust in his senior team member, both implicitly and explicitly, any number of times, such as when he'd shared one of the most intimately humiliating episodes of his life. Morgan was intelligent, a man of integrity, and, despite a gruff exterior, the owner of a most empathetic heart. Above all, and much to the surprise of each of them, Morgan was his friend. No, it wasn't that Reid was unhappy with Morgan. It was more that he was worried about him. But not half as much as he was worried about Hotch.

 _I don't know what this means. Is he finished? I can't see him staying with the FBI as just a member of the BAU. He's got too much alpha male in him. Not the same variety as Morgan, but it's there just the same. Or is it gone, now? Has Foyet taken it from him?_

* * *

Reid remained vigilant throughout the case, enough to have heard JJ colluding with Garcia over the phone. Something about creating an office for Morgan. He'd heard Hotch offer Morgan the use of his own office, just before they'd started on the case, only to be turned down. Now it sounded like the women were colluding to make it happen. He'd approached his best friend about it, and been relieved to be told they were planning to give Morgan someone else's office.

"Hotch will still have his own, Spence. No worries."

"I _am_ worried. But I'm glad to hear that. Somehow, if he still has an office…."

"I know. It won't seem so weird. Or, I don't know...it just _is_ weird, I guess."

" _That's_ an understatement. I can't even remember a time like this. I mean, even when Gideon left, Hotch was already in charge. It's just…"

She patted his arm, well aware of his difficulty in dealing with change.

"I know. But at least we still have him. Foyet didn't win."

Reid wasn't so sure. "Didn't he?"

* * *

Hotch had accomplished the take down on his own. And he'd managed to save the final victim, as well as their eyes, in the process. The look of satisfaction on his face hadn't been lost on any of his colleagues. They were, after all, profilers. But the plane ride back had been largely silent.

An hour later, Rossi passed by Reid's desk on his way to the elevators, taking note of the book open on the surface of it.

"Weren't you reading that on the plane? Both ways?"

The implication was clear. They'd traveled several time zones each flight. On such long trips, Reid was usually good for a book in each direction. And here he was, still sitting at his desk in the BAU, reading. Or not.

"Uh...yeah. I guess I was a little distracted."

Rossi nodded his head in the direction of the row of offices upstairs.

"By that?"

The genius shook his head. "Not by Morgan having an office." Although, now that he thought about it, he would miss sharing the bullpen with his friend. "Just..."

"Just everything."

Reid slowly closed his book and looked up at Rossi. "Yeah, I guess."

Rossi picked up the crutches angled against Reid's desk and offered them to his younger colleague.

"It will be all right. Just give it time."

"But..."

" _But,_ nothing is written in stone. Just give it time. Trust me on this, Spencer."

Reid steadied himself on his desk as he pushed out of his chair. Then he reached for the crutches.

"I do trust you, Rossi. But I don't see..."

Rossi's raised palm stopped him.

"You don't have to see. You just have to trust that we'll get the bastard that hurt Hotch, and then things can get back to normal."

Reid positioned the crutches beneath his arms, and turned away from his desk.

"I hope you're right."

"I am. I'm also hungry. What say you let me take you to dinner? Maybe we can get through that next chapter."

Rossi was puzzled when Reid turned him down. Politely, but turned down, nonetheless.

"Don't tell me you've taken up cooking."

Reid's smile was small, and apologetic.

"I just have to go somewhere."

"Oh?" Curious now. "Can I drop you off?"

"Uh...no. No, that's okay. I just...I have to go to a meeting...with some people.."

Which was when Rossi understood the depth of Reid's distress. Nothing had been shared, not even by Aaron Hotchner. But, profiler or not, David Rossi had simply lived too many years not to understand. He'd been expending all of his worry on Hotch. But now he realized that he had another friend...taken aback that his mind had gone directly to that word...equally lost. And he wasn't quite as certain that he knew how to help the younger man. But he trusted that others did.

"Oh, okay. Of course. Well, I hope you have a good meeting. See you tomorrow."


	11. Chapter 11

**Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 11**

They were called out a few days later, to a case in LA. Someone was exsanguinating victims, whose common connection was a famous rock artist. For all they knew, their unsub was a vampire.

They'd barely begun the case discussion on the plane, when JJ made a comment to Reid about a prior case in LA. Her comment, and Reid's response, resulted in the exchanging of amused glances among the others. Obviously flustered, and with the rising of a deep red color to his face, Reid did his best to bring them, quickly and firmly, back to the case at hand.

 _Something about a woman_ , thought Rossi. _Hmm. I wonder if that's the one…_ Remembering Reid talking about his first kiss. Filing it away for a future conversation.

As had become usual, Reid stayed behind at the police station with Hotch and JJ, while the other three BAU agents worked the various scenes. For those cases where Hotch needed to be more present with local law enforcement, Reid's sidelining effectively limited the functioning of the team, and it had become the source of some guilt for the young man.

 _We're a team for a reason. We work better together, bouncing ideas off one another, than we do alone. With me out of the field, there are only three of us left. That means someone always works alone. If I wasn't taking so long to rehab this damn thing…._

It was true. His rehab _was_ taking an extraordinarily long time. Most of the delay was behind him, thankfully. But it was still a factor, since he was still not able to contribute to the team in the same way, all these weeks and months later. He knew, because he'd been told, repeatedly, that he'd lost time in the beginning because of his refusal to take strong pain medication.

" _You_ might be willing to put up with the pain, but your muscles won't be," they'd told him. "The fibers will stay in spasm much longer if you don't let them relax. It's all chemical, Dr. Reid."

 _Tell me about it_ , he'd thought. But still, he'd insisted on 'No narcotics'. He'd lied outright when they'd asked him if he had a history of dependence, because he couldn't afford for it to be in his record. He'd sustained the knee injury on the job, after all, and the records would be reviewed by someone in workman's comp. If it became known, both his job and that of his superior….and maybe those of his colleagues….would be put at risk.

So he'd lied, and refused, and tried without success to power through the pain of physical therapy early on. Nothing but time was going to help him get through it. Now, he'd had the time. He could see the progress weekly, if not daily. But he could also see his hindrance of the team, with every case.

 _And I have no one to blame but myself._

To Reid, it was perfectly clear. Tobias Hankel may have given him the drugs. But he hadn't put the vials into his pockets. Not with his dead, unmoving hands.

None of those thoughts rose to the surface of Reid's mind as he plodded through the process of determining their profile. While he made notations on a whiteboard, JJ worked at a table nearby, calling Garcia for help in getting through a computer password. It turned out to be something that Reid had never logged into his vast mental reservoir of resources, and he asked JJ about it, puzzled.

"C _u_ llen," she emphasized the pronunciation. "You know, the vampire family from Twilight?"

He shook his head at the unfamiliar reference, making her laugh.

A few minutes later, she grabbed her jacket, telling Reid she was about to interview the 'BFF' of their victim.

"BFF?"

Again, she laughed, as she explained what it meant. She refused his offer of help, and encouraged him to deliver the profile, even as he insisted he wasn't sure of it yet.

As she left him, she called over her shoulder, "You may be a genius, Spencer Reid, but you'd be nowhere without me. Admit it!"

 _Don't I know it. BFF._

* * *

Less than an hour later, everything turned. Badly.

The DNA came back, telling them they had the profile wrong. Telling Reid _he_ had the profile wrong. Their unsub was a woman. Reid felt like the ground had opened beneath him when he realized that the woman in question was likely the person JJ had gone to interview….alone.

 _You should have gone with her! You should have gone!_

He virtually raced into the office where Hotch and Rossi were conferring, one crutch supporting him, the other swinging behind, unattended. The unit chief saw the rising panic in the eyes of his young agent, took in the information, and issued several quick commands before heading out to the scene. Rossi followed quickly at his heels, patting Reid on the shoulder as he did so.

"We'll bring her back. Don't worry."

* * *

They did bring her back, but not unharmed. She'd suffered a concussion, and been shaky and disoriented when they'd found her. Fortunately, she'd been cleared to make the plane ride home.

Rossi felt for Reid as he watched the younger man hobble about the interior of the plane, searching out pillows, a blanket …..anything that might make her a little more comfortable.

 _He wears his heart on his sleeve. And, right now, its laden with guilt._

So much so that even JJ felt a need to comfort him.

"It's not your fault, Spence. You couldn't have known. Don't worry about it."

"I just feel so bad that I didn't go with you." _Again._

To Rossi, it seemed like a deeper exchange than the words would indicate. He noted the prolonged eye contact between the two, and wondered what was going unsaid. Looking around at the rest of the team for any kind of indication, he didn't see the same level of concern.

 _What, have I developed some kind of radar for when the kid is upset?_

Radar or not, the moment begged for the relief of some tension, so Rossi offered some commentary on his musical preferences, which did not include the kind of product offered by the band at the heart of their just-concluded case. As expected, it led to a few laughs and a more general discussion of music. When Reid made his (not unexpected) pop culture faux pas, Rossi noted that, despite the good-natured intentions of the team's laughter, the genius' smile did not reach to his eyes. Reid was still disproportionately troubled by what had happened today.

* * *

They'd gotten in late, so Hotch dismissed them from going back to the BAU. Reid was hustling….sort of….across the airport parking lot to his car when he heard Rossi calling from behind him.

"Spencer….wait!"

He huffed as he caught up to Reid. "Either you're getting mighty speedy on those things, or the Bureau will soon be looking to retire me for a second time."

"Sorry. I guess I'm getting pretty used to them by now."

"You're barely using the second one. When will they move you to a cane?"

Reid shrugged. "They haven't said, exactly. But I guess you're right. It will probably be soon." Then, remembering that Rossi had come after him, he asked, "Did you want to ask me something?"

It had been an impulse move on Rossi's part, one that he hadn't quite thought through. He'd just reacted to what he'd perceived as a need, and responded to it.

 _Which isn't like me at all. I'm usually the guy who's got all the moves figured out before he enters the game. What, exactly, is going on here?_

With the question hanging between them, he had to come up with something. He sensed that Reid would deflect any attempt to overtly address what was upsetting him, so Rossi suggested something less challenging. But, he hoped, equally effective.

"I had some new ideas about stories to include, and wanted to run them by you. Maybe over a drink?"

It was almost unethical, how easily he'd played Reid. He knew his junior team member would feel obligated to help.

 _It's for his own good_ , Rossi encouraged himself.

As expected, Reid hesitated but a moment before agreeing to the idea.

"I'll follow you. Then I can get myself home afterward."

"Sure, whatever you like. We'll go back to my friend Mario's place. He'll set us up in comfort."

* * *

True to Rossi's word, Mario led them to a quiet booth in the back of the restaurant, now completing its final seating for the evening. Without asking, he brought over two glasses, a bowl of ice, and a bottle of Rossi's favorite scotch whiskey. The senior profiler poured for both of them.

Reid's eyes widened when he saw what Rossi was doing.

"I don't….I …..I've never really had scotch."

The older man smiled. "Well then, my son, you are about to live, for the very first time. Try it straight up, so you can taste it. Then, if you want, dilute away with ice."

He raised his glass as Reid reluctantly raised his own, and they clinked.

"To my partner in authorship. And crime-fighting."

Reid's shy half smile appeared at the words.

"I haven't done much."

"What? Writing….or crime-fighting?"

"Well definitely not much writing….not for this, anyway. And, compared to you, I guess I haven't done much crime-fighting either."

"Don't sell yourself short, Spencer. You've done plenty. All I've got on you is age."

"And experience."

Rossi took a satisfying sip and nodded. "And experience. Which is what I wanted to talk about. But first, do an old man a favor, and try your drink."

In a spot, Reid could only comply. He took a deep breath, held the glass to his lips, and sipped. Rossi repressed a smile as the genius' eyes briefly bugged out, and Reid began to cough.

"Sm….smooth…..very smooth." Coughing once again.

Rossi laughed. "I was once a novice drinker too, Spencer. Keep sipping, you'll get the hang of it."

"If it doesn't kill me first," muttered Reid, under his breath.

"What's that you say?"

"Um…I said, maybe you should tell me the story."

"Ah, the story." The one he'd been trying to come up with, all the way over. Although he didn't quite understand the depth of it, nor the full source, Rossi had a sense that Reid was struggling with guilt. So he settled on an episode that had caused him much of the same thing. He'd almost rejected the idea as too painful, but he'd chided himself into submission.

 _If the kid can balance a burden, so can I._

So he brought up the case, not even a year old, where he'd glibly dismissed a young admirer and her claim to have uncovered a serial killer.

"You remember, right? I was touring with my last book, and this kid comes up, tells me she's a big fan, and that she's tracking what she thinks is a serial, right there in her home town. I pretty much patted her on the head, said 'that's nice' and moved on to the next autograph. A couple of hours later, I get a call that she's been killed."

Reid studied his older companion. "You don't feel guilty about that, do you? I mean….it wasn't your fault. How could you have known?"

Rossi shrugged. "Maybe if I'd listened to her, _really_ listened, I mean. If I'd taken her more seriously."

Reid shook his head. "It wouldn't have made any difference. Even if you'd thought she was right, what would have happened that night? The most you might have done would be to call in the police, maybe call Hotch. But nothing would have changed how things played out that night."

Rossi wasn't so sure. To the point of needing another sip of his scotch.

"Maybe we would have gone to the police together. After all, they would have given a lot more credence to me, than to her. What if we'd been together that night?"

Reid was on a mission now. "It wouldn't have worked that way. Sure, it might have postponed things for a few hours. But, obviously, the unsub was tracking _her_ every bit as much as _she_ was tracking _him_. He would have found a way. He'd have found a time, _and_ a way. Her death wasn't your fault, Rossi."

There ensued a brief silence, as Rossi let the words sink in, surprised at how much weight they carried, even though he'd been using the story as a tool. He was touched at the vehement defense issued by his young partner...and grateful for the opening he'd just been given.

"So, you're saying that I couldn't have saved her, because I didn't have enough information. I didn't know about the unsub, or how he was working. Even if I'd believed her, I'd have only begun to set the case in motion. It would have had to unfold more before I could have seen the pattern."

"Exactly."

Rossi gave a slow nod as he downed another sip of scotch. "Does the same not apply to a genius?"

Caught off guard, Reid was momentarily confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means, my young friend, that you couldn't possibly have known that JJ was walking into danger today. It wasn't your fault that we didn't have all the information we needed for the profile. So it isn't your fault that she was hurt."

When Reid averted his eyes, Rossi added, "And, by the way, in case you haven't processed it…she's going to be fine."

It was Reid's turn to reach for the scotch. Which, Rossi noted silently, went down with considerably less reaction this time.

"It's my fault she was there alone. I should have gone with her."

"You were working on the profile."

Reid snorted. "Yeah. The _wrong_ profile."

Rossi leaned in, forearms on the table. "Listen, Spencer. I get that you want to feel guilty about this. But what I don't understand is _why_. The profile was a work in progress. You were doing what you were supposed to be doing, and JJ was doing her job as well. Why do you need to own this?"

Reid's eyes were firmly on the table. "Because it's not the first time. I left her alone once before and….."

Cutting himself off.

But Rossi wouldn't let him. There had been too much vehemence behind the words.

"And what?"

Not quite certain what they were talking about. To Rossi's knowledge, nothing untoward had ever happened to Jennifer Jareau. Still, he remembered that long stare between the two youngest BAU members. Maybe this was the source of it. Whatever 'this' was.

Reid hadn't responded, so Rossi prodded him.

"Tell me, Spencer. You left her alone, and what? Was she hurt? Clearly she's still alive…"

"I didn't know that!"

He'd virtually shouted it, and both men looked around, hoping not to have aroused any unwelcome attention.

Rossi brought his tone down to a compensatory whisper. "What didn't you know?"

Reid took another sip of scotch. "I didn't know she was alive. I thought he'd killed her. And it was my fault."

It still wasn't making sense to Rossi. He had to ask.

"Why don't you start from the beginning, Spencer? Tell me what happened."

Reid gave him a look. "Like I'm telling a story?" Sarcasm dripping from every word.

Properly chastised, Rossi shook his head.

"Forget the story. Forget the book. You're obviously troubled, and I want to know what it's about. Please tell me."

For a long moment, Reid stared at his older friend. Rossi felt like he could see the synapses firing, as the young man weighed the cost of telling, against the cost of remaining silent. The older man prayed a silent prayer for wisdom, should his young companion choose to open himself.

 _He needs it. You can see that, can't You? Don't let me blow it._

Rossi gave what he hoped was an encouraging look, and lifted his glass once again, mimicking a toast. As he'd hoped, Reid raised his glass in kind, and took another sip.

 _Whatever my personal failings, sister scotch has never let me down. Please don't let this be the first time!_

It wouldn't be. Reid set his tumbler back on the table and bent his head in that way he so often did, when he was about to share a confidence.

"You've probably heard about the Hankel case, right?" Most of the Bureau had. "Tobias Hankel was the owner of three personalities….his own, his religious zealot father, and the enforcer, Raphael the archangel."

Rossi's eyes closed as he recognized the case. Of course he'd heard of it. An FBI agent had been taken, and tortured, and threatened with death….until he'd turned the tables and killed his captor. And Rossi was sitting across from that agent right now. But he still didn't understand about JJ.

"I've heard, yes. But I thought you were alone."

Reid shook his head. "I wasn't. Not at the beginning. JJ and I had gone out to talk to someone we thought was a witness. And it was Hankel. Once we realized, he ran from the house, so I insisted we split up to capture him, and…"

"And he knocked you out, and took you. But nothing happened to JJ, did it?"

Reid was earnest now. "She was hurt, I found that out later. She'd been bitten by these dogs he had there. But I had no idea. All I knew…all I could remember, when I woke up in the shack, was that the last thing I'd heard was her screaming, and then gunshots."

 _Ah._ Rossi sat back. "And you thought she'd been hurt."

"I thought she was dead! I thought I'd gotten her killed! For a while, I thought he might even have her in another shack, and that he might be doing to her what he was doing to me." Eyes tearing away, something in his vision too terrible to remain in focus. "I didn't know. I would listen for her screams, and pray not to hear them, hoping he wouldn't be hurting her. And then I would pray that I _would_ hear them, because it would mean that she was still alive."

Rossi remained perfectly still, afraid to create even a second's distraction from the story. This long-held burden needed to be shed. As painful as it was to hear what Reid had been carrying, both then and now, he could only imagine the pain of having lived it.

"And then…..and then he started talking about the team. About there being seven of us. And he wanted me to pick one to die. And all I could think, was 'She's alive! She must be alive, or he would have told me. He would have tortured me with it." He looked up at Rossi, making eye contact once again. "Up until then, I would have let him kill me. I thought I deserved it."

"Spencer…"

"No, Rossi, I did. I broke protocol, and she paid the price for it. That's what I thought. In a way, that's what happened. She was terrified in that barn, Emily told me."

"Emily?"

"JJ wouldn't. She wouldn't tell me anything about what had happened to her. She knew me too well. _Knows_ me too well, I guess. But I made Emily tell me."

"And what did she tell you?"

"That the dogs…..they'd mauled one of the victims to death….and they'd come after JJ. That was why she'd screamed. It was the dogs she'd been shooting at."

"Was she hurt?"

"She had some deep scrapes. But mostly, she'd been terrified. I think she even had some PTSD after it."

Rossi nodded. "As well she might. But, Spencer, I haven't heard anything that would tell me this was your fault. You were only two agents, and, if I recall correctly, you were out in the middle of nowhere, right?"

"Right." Uncertainty in his tone.

"You had identified someone who had already killed multiple people, and you had no hope of backup for what, an hour?"

"We didn't have backup, period. We had no cell service."

"So you couldn't even call for help. What were you going to do, let this guy get away? You couldn't have done that. _That_ would have been malfeasance."

"But.."

"No 'buts'. Listen, kid, that book of protocol….who do you think wrote it? Yes, it says we stick together. But it also says we get the job done. You got the job done."

"But…"

"I told you, no 'buts'. I'm pretty sure JJ told you that too, am I right? Then…and today, on the plane. Both times, you did your job the best way you knew how, with the knowledge available and the intention of keeping the public safe. No is going to ask more of you. Well, except…."

"Except me."

"You do seem to raise the bar, when it comes to yourself."

Silent, Reid reached inside for a moment, and retrieved a deeply ingrained mantra.

"My mom always told me that, 'To whom much is given, from him, much will be required.'"

"Ah. The parable of the faithful steward."

Reid seemed surprised. "You know it?"

Rossi harrumphed. "I only _look_ like a heathen. I was pretty good with Scripture, back in the day. And some of my best friends are priests."

Reid smiled. "Religion by osmosis?"

Rossi laughed. "Something like that. But your mom is right. You have been gifted with a great mind. And you've chosen to use it to help others. That doesn't mean it's infallible, or that there's not more to learn, does it?"

"No."

"So why do you expect that of yourself? Your gift isn't unlimited. You accept it for what it is….gratefully, mind you….and you put it to use for the good of others. Why isn't that enough?"

The young man shook his head. "I don't know."

Rossi thought he did. Reid had been taught, at a very young age, that being himself _wasn't_ enough. Not enough to keep his father in his life, anyway. But it was too late, and they were too deep into this conversation, to go there tonight. So Rossi tried another example.

"If Morgan had trouble kicking down a door, you wouldn't think less of him, would you?"

"No!" Thinking a bit more. "But I'd probably rag on him about it….once he'd calmed down."

They both chuckled at the shared mental image.

"There. You've just made my case for me. When you run into boundaries, it's okay to get mad. But get mad at _them_ , not at yourself. Push at them. Maybe you _can_ expand that box, just a little bit, each time. But then, let go of it. There will be another day, another opportunity to do it again, and maybe to do it better. And, if your friends want to rag on you…."

"You mean, like about Beethoven?"

Rossi smiled. "Like about Beethoven. You let them. You laugh with them. You be grateful that you have them by your side."

"I am."

"I know you are, Spencer. And they know it too. I heard JJ trying to tell you that, today."

Reid nodded, and the two sat in silence for a few minutes, until Rossi looked at his watch.

He pushed his glass away and started to rise.

"It's late. We'd better get going."

The younger man slid to the edge of his bench and pushed off on his crutches, swaying far to his left before righting himself.

"Uh….Rossi?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think I can drive."

The older man snorted and shook his head, a smirky smile in place.

"Novice."


	12. Chapter 12

**Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 12**

The pounding in JJ's head had subsided a bit, courtesy of the ibuprofen she'd downed during the drive over. It was the only lingering effect of her concussion, and she'd been assured that the headaches would resolve themselves quickly enough.

 _Thank goodness. Bad enough my head hurts, I don't need to have Spence feeling guilty about it all over again._

She'd been careful not to so much as furrow her brow around him for the past week, ever since the unsub had hit her over the head with a shovel. Just now, she was traveling with most of the others, to a home in rural Virginia, planning to meet Reid at the scene of a family annihilation.

As they pulled up to the address, JJ was pleasantly surprised to see Reid was now using only a single crutch.

"That is _definite_ progress! But why the crutch? Why not a cane?"

"No reason. I just haven't gotten around to picking one up yet. I wanted to get to the seminar."

"Oh, that's right," interjected Emily. "How was it?"

"Pretty interesting. I've kept up with my reading, but I only get to read published articles. This gave me a view of current thinking and research."

"Which he will no doubt share with us the next time we're on the jet," teased Morgan. "See, there _is_ something to be said about a case close to home."

And plenty to dread, as they all well knew. It was one thing to be called out to a distant city, or to some rural location, pretty much any distance from Quantio, and an entirely different thing to have to entertain the prospect of having a serial killer on the loose in a working radius that included their own homes.

This time, to the particular consternation of Hotch and JJ, their unsub was a family annihilator.

Not that Hotch hadn't _already_ suffered the loss of his family. But the fact was that Haley and Jack were merely in hiding. It was true that they were unavailable to him, removed from his daily life. Bit they weren't dead. And he was determined to keep it that way, to see that the separation remained only temporary. A family annihilator would leave no chance of that.

He decided a consultation was in order with another prominent family annihilator the team had put away a few years back, and whom their unsub seemed to be mimicking. And he also decided that he would need a tool, someone Karl Arnold hadn't met yet. Someone the Fox couldn't possibly respect, because she was a woman. So, while the others worked with local law enforcement, Hotch and Emily Prentiss went to prison.

Several members of the team on the ground were faced with telling the father, a veteran, just home from war, that he'd been fighting in the wrong battleground. That, while he'd been half way around the world, his family had been killed in their own home. That difficult encounter began to take its toll on an already fragile JJ, and Reid couldn't help but notice. As she absently dunked a teabag for the thirtieth time, he hobbled over to her.

"You okay?"

She misread him, evidence that she was not. She thought he was about to apologize, once again, for the concussion that wasn't his fault. And, in her state of upset, she was annoyed.

"Spence, I've told you a hundred times that I'm fine. You don't need to be hovering over me all the time."

Considering his own current state of ambulation, he thought the use of the term 'hovering' was a bit excessive. But he was wise enough to keep his own counsel about it. He also had an opinion on her mistaking his concern for her emotional state for his concern for her physical state.

 _A convenience designed to push me away. Which is not going to happen._ Wisdom be damned.

"I'm just asking if you're okay, after talking with the father. Morgan said he took it pretty badly."

"How would you expect someone to take it, if you'd just told him a madman had murdered his family?"

No attempt to mask her upset now. He waited her out, as long experience had taught him. Eventually, she spoke into the silence between them.

"Sorry. I know that's not what you meant."

"I just thought it must have been hard for you. I mean, I know it's _always_ been hard to deal with the families….even if you make it look like it's not….." Waiting for, and receiving, her sad acknowledgement. "But I've wondered if it might be even harder, these days, because you have a family of your own now."

He was surprised when JJ gave him a sideways look.

"We all have families, Spence. The families we come from, the ones we're growing. It's always been hard…..but I've always reminded myself that it's that much harder for _them_. It's not about me."

Which was one of the things he'd come to love about his best friend. Others saw it as distance. He saw it as her putting the victims first. Still….

"I know. And I agree with you. But that doesn't mean that some cases aren't harder than others. I was just asking if this was one of the harder ones."

He caught her eyes for a few beats, and saw the acknowledgement there, framed by gratitude.

"Yes. And I'll be fine."

* * *

In the end, it was Emily who figured it out. She called them from the prison where she and Hotch had visited the Fox, and told them they had the profile wrong. Their annihilator was a woman. From there, deduction had led them in the right direction, and they'd found their unsub, a young woman traumatized as a child while living in a war zone.

After the fact, Reid picked at Emily's brain.

"What was he like? Karl Arnold, I mean. Was he changed? Was he repentant? Did he show any signs of remorse?"

He'd only rarely gotten an opportunity for follow up on any of the killers they'd caught.

"Well, I can't exactly say if he was changed. Remember, I wasn't there when you guys took him down the first time. But, judging from how he got under Hotch's skin, my guess is that he hasn't changed at all. And no, there wasn't a hint of remorse."

"What do you mean, he got under Hotch's skin?"

Over the past few months, Reid's hypervigilance about his unit chief had lessened, partly from his need to attend to his own rehabilitation, but also because Hotch had seemed to have found a new, reassuring, state of equilibrium. With Emily's words, Reid's worry about his default mentor flooded back into him.

Maybe Emily sensed it, and became concerned. Or maybe she needed to assure herself. After all, pretty much every aspect of today's exchange with Karl Arnold had been soul-rattling. For whatever reason, she decided to downplay what had happened at the prison.

"Oh, he just seemed to know which buttons to push. Karl Arnold was a psychologist, wasn't he? Maybe he's just good at reading people."

Spencer Reid had become pretty good at reading people himself. And he didn't like what he was reading right now.

"Emily, I can tell you're not giving me the whole story. What are you holding back? Did something happen?"

Way too much had happened, and she was going to need a few hours of alone time to sort it all out. But the thing that had happened with Hotch….

 _Maybe I should tell him. It's probably important that I'm not the only one who knows._

She heaved a sigh, and motioned her friend to a chair. She could always tell when he'd spent too much time on his reassembled knee, and this appeared to be one of those times.

Once they were both seated, she told him. From the beginning. All of it, nearly word for word.

Reid stared her into stopping the narrative.

"What?"

"Emily…..you've practically read me a screen play. But you've left out the most important thing."

"That being?" Caution in her voice. She knew he'd seen right through her, the moment she'd let him catch her eyes.

"That _being_ …" momentarily displacing his concern for Hotch, and replacing it with his concern for her, "…what he was doing to you. Have you ever spent that kind of time with a serial killer before?"

All she could do was to shake her head.

"Well, I have. The same way as you did….with Hotch, inside a prison. And I don't mind telling you that I was terrified."

"Even with Hotch there?" She'd been alone with Karl Arnold for the most unnerving parts of their conversation.

 _Especially with Hotch there_ , he wanted to say. _He nearly got us both killed._

But the words that left his mouth were more restrained. "Even with Hotch there. So….are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?"

That, she most certainly did not. But now that she'd broken her silence, she did want her colleague to know about what Arnold had shown to their unit chief. So she shook her head, as she laid a hand of gratitude on Reid's arm.

"Thanks, but I'm okay. Or, I will be I guess."

A sad smile of acknowledgement showed on Reid's face. It was so like what JJ had said to him, only hours ago. As frustrating as it was to be on the receiving end of those words, he understood. He'd been there himself, more than once.

Emily continued. "But I will tell you about what he showed to Hotch."

"Showed?"

"He had letters, like fan letters. And articles. And markings."

"Markings?"

"The Reaper's markings. Foyet had sent them to Arnold."

Reid sat back, stunned.

"Foyet?! He's trying to communicate with Hotch? By using another serial killer?!"

"My reaction, exactly."

Reid folded forward again, leaning in toward Emily.

"What was _Hotch's_ reaction?"

She took in and released a deep breath before replying.

"He was thrown. He recovered quickly….he wasn't about to give Arnold the satisfaction….but he was thrown. He barely said a word the whole way back."

Reid's eyes riveted to something in the distance, as he thought it through.

"Foyet wants to torture him. He wants Hotch to know that he's watching him. That he's _anticipating_ him. And, all the while, Haley and Jack are out there."

"Under guard. Don't forget that. They've got a federal marshal with them."

He brought his gaze back to her. "Would _you_ settle for someone else watching a child you loved?"

Caught off guard, Emily did her best to cover. "If I had to, yes _." And I do have to._

"Well, I don't think Hotch can. I think it's been eating at him, this whole time. And now, for Foyet to get at him like he did…."

Emily caught the rising anxiety in her friend's tone.

"He'll be okay, Reid. He's motivated, like Rossi says. But he's not reckless. He'll be okay."

It was Reid's turn to sigh.

"I hope you're right."

* * *

For all Reid knew, none of them had gotten any sleep.

He certainly hadn't. His conversation with Emily had led him to think she'd been going to find sleep elusive as well. And, for all of her attempts at denial, he was pretty sure JJ had been rattled enough to lose at least a few hours.

 _But she'll blame it on Henry, and expect everyone to believe her._

And Hotch…..now that he thought about it, maybe Hotch hadn't really been adapting to the situation at all.

 _Maybe he's been putting on a show. That's what I thought at first…..that he was trying to make us think that he was coping. But now…..now I wonder if the show was for someone else. Maybe he's been aware of Foyet this whole time. Maybe the show has been for the Reaper._

Which might mean…

 _Did he step down to make Foyet think he'd won? Did Hotch want to look weak? Has he been trying to draw Foyet out?"_

If so, he'd succeeded. The Reaper had already demonstrated his ability to go underground for a decade at a time. But this time…this time, it had only been a few months, and he'd shown himself already.

 _Hotch wasn't defeated by Foyet! He's been on top of this the whole time!_

If he hadn't been so elated about the idea that his mentor hadn't been as damaged as he'd feared, Reid might have seen the other side of the coin.

Hotch _was_ on to Foyet. But Foyet was also on to Hotch.


	13. Chapter 13

**Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 13**

Reid hobbled in early, as had become his habit. Even though he was moving faster now, down to the one crutch, he was still compromised by the absence of his long, loping gait.

 _It really is amazing, the things you take for granted, until they're gone._

As he approached his desk, he saw something that told him he hadn't been the first to arrive. He hurried over, laid down his messenger bag, and leaned heavily on his remaining crutch, as he took the object into his hands and examined it. The workmanship was detailed, the polish immaculate, the length...

He almost dropped the thing, startled by a voice from behind.

"I couldn't be sure, but I've seen my tailor measure enough inseams," said David Rossi, "so I took an educated guess."

Reid hopped on his good leg until he was turned. "But….what….."

"I heard you talking to JJ. And I thought it was time you traveled in style."

Reid ran his hand up and down the wood…..nary a blemish on its length. "This is beautiful."

Rossi signaled with a nod. "Let's see if it fits."

So Reid lifted his arm, letting the crutch fall gently away. Rossi grabbed it and laid it against the desk, and watched as his young colleague put the gift to its first use.

Reid was tentative. The displacement of weight-bearing from his axilla to his wrist took some getting used to. But, a couple of circuits around the bullpen, and he looked to Rossi as though he'd been using the cane for years.

 _Which I hope does not come to pass._

Rossi had long since noticed the slow pace of Reid's recovery, and had wondered if the injury had been worse than they'd been told.

 _Why else would it take so long? I hope a full recovery is still possible for him. I don't know that the FBI will keep him, if he's permanently disabled from field work._

Reid made his way back to his desk, leaning on it as he put a hand out to Rossi.

"It's perfect. I don't know how to thank you."

Rossi shook the outstretched hand. "No thanks necessary. Besides, I thought it might lend a certain….ambience….to our author's photo. You know, for the back of the book."

He had to swallow a smile as he watched the color drain from Reid's face.

"Author's photo? On the book?" His pitch rising with every word.

Rossi gave up the effort to suppress, and laughed outright, as he patted Reid on the arm and turned to go to his office. He'd opened his mouth to retort, when both he and his co-author were caught off guard by the tornadic arrival of JJ. She barely acknowledged them as she ran up the stairs, looking first into Hotch's empty office, and then into Garcia's empty lair. Frustrated, she came to the banister and called over it.

"Where _is_ everybody?"

Reid squinted at her. "Well, two of us are right here."

Unapologetic, she ran down the stairs to them.

"There are over-the-counter alternatives. We've been profiling _all_ of the meds, but there are OTC alternatives!"

Reid was a half-step ahead of Rossi in understanding what she meant. He grabbed his phone and started punching numbers.

"Who are you calling?" asked JJ.

"Kimura. She'll know."

Rossi was on board now. "Here's Hotch!" Waving his friend over before he could head upstairs to his office.

With the briefest of explanations, the unit chief was immediately focused. "Is Garcia here yet?"

Reid couldn't help but notice the rapid pulsation in his carotid as Hotch moved into attack mode.

JJ replied. "I'll get her on it as soon as she arrives."

"Good. Get everyone to the conference room as soon as they get here."

* * *

Garcia and Reid started to research which of Foyet's ailments could be treated by over-the-counter drugs, but Kimura came through before they'd completed the list. Reid waved his slip of paper triumphantly as he laid down the phone.

"There are a only a few that would require a prescription." He handed the list to Garcia. "Narrow down to these, with the same search area parameters."

There had been so much frantic, heady activity in the past hour that no one had noticed Reid's new means of ambulation. With a lull in the action as Garcia went to work, JJ finally realized the absence of his crutch….and _then_ spied the cane.

"Finally! And you thought the day would never come!"

Rossi overheard, and intimated that Reid had been sharing his frustrations with their communications liaison.

 _While he's been trying to tell me that he was satisfied with his progress. Is my young friend still afraid of being thought weak?_

Rossi made a mental note to probe the next time they sat down together. For now, his vigilance had to be largely directed toward Aaron Hotchner.

 _He can taste it. I can see it in his eyes. He can taste putting Foyet behind him, and getting his family back. I wouldn't even be surprised if he managed a reconciliation, after this._

Minutes later, Garcia managed to track down the precise combination of prescription drugs Foyet would have to use, distributed from several pharmacies in the search radius. Then Reid went to work.

Rossi took in the tableau as Reid stood before the caseboard, not quite staring. For the first time, Rossi noticed that the young genius' eyes tracked back and forth as he thought.

 _Like he's reading, in his head._

The BAU founder also took in the look of respect and trust cast at the genius, by his friend Aaron Hotchner. When Reid came up blank on his first pass, Hotch gave him another angle to work.

"Reid, he calls himself The Reaper."

Not trying to decipher it himself. Not giving the puzzle to the whole team. No, Aaron Hotchner was, most obviously, leaning on Spencer Reid in this critical moment. Later, the fact of it would hit Reid, and he would ponder on the reciprocity of the relationship between mentor and mentee. Right now, that thought was held by David Rossi.

Hotch's trust turned out to be well-placed. Reid had it in less than a minute.

"Peter Rhea."

And they were off.

* * *

Rossi had been doing this job for over thirty years. He'd seen many more heinous things than he could recount, some so inhumane that he'd never been able to bring himself to write about them. He'd seen people killed, lost colleagues in the line of duty.

But _this_ ….this was something else. This was torture, punctuated by the cold, indifferent tossing away of a life. A life he'd _known_. And he'd feared it was the tossing away of more than one life.

They'd all heard it. The almost gleeful tone in Foyet's voice, the desperation in Hotch's. The fear-tinged resignation in Haley's. They'd even heard little Jack, eager to please his father, eager to emulate him, valorous and dutiful in 'working the case', even in the presence of the 'bad guy'. There had been something so pathetic in the fact that Jack hadn't even seemed to realize the final moments with his mother. The trusting little boy, playing a game of cops and robbers as though his entire life wasn't being stolen from underneath him.

They'd heard the sound of _three_ lives ending, and they'd all known it. Speeding over there in their SUVs, the gunshot that they'd all known was coming had shocked them, nonetheless. In that split second, each of them had learned something about denial, about the psyche's reflexive response to protect a person from devastating reality. 'It wasn't…..it couldn't…he didn't….' ran through each of their minds, until their training put an end to it. They _had_ heard it. Foyet _had_ done it. And Hotch had heard it, too.

No one spoke. In the silence, they each held their breaths, subconsciously listening for a sign of life from their soul-pierced leader. A breath, a sob. Anything but the cacophony of metal crunching, and glass breaking.

And then it came. The guttural whoop of the forced intake of breath that follows the emptying of oneself into a sob. The sound was as disturbingly stirring as the gunshot had been.

They were still on the road when they heard Hotch shut his vehicle off. Rossi almost begged his old friend to wait for them, not to go after Foyet in his emotionally fragile state. But then, he remembered.

 _Jack is in there. Go, Aaron! Get him!_

Each of them, save Reid, was out of their vehicles even before they came to a full stop. Racing into the home that had, once upon a time, been a place of solace for the Hotchner family, and had now become the place of its demise.

Inside, the scene was as he'd expected. David Rossi wasn't at all shocked that Aaron Hotchner had killed George Foyet. He'd have been surprised if he _hadn't_. As Rossi moved through the house, he was relieved to see JJ carrying Jack outside, momentarily touched to see Reid hobbling behind her. But, even though he'd expected it, the sight and sound of Aaron's grief penetrated, to a place deep inside, a place that had only recently been left unguarded, a purposeful dropping of its defenses, in pursuit of sharing its wisdom with a burdened young man. In the coming days, Rossi would draw on that well of wisdom to know what to say to his grieving friend, and when to say it.

And he would muse on whatever it had been…..Serendipity? Fate? Providence?….. that had brought this new friendship so prominently into his life, so that he could tend to the old one.

* * *

The team had been placed into 'stand down' designation. Apart from the inquiry, there was no natural coming together of the members, so Rossi had to take that opportunity to make a superficial assessment of their status.

He'd seen Hotch, of course. He'd come by to go through paperwork, to accompany him to the funeral home, to take Jack out for burgers…any excuse to be present during this period of intense grief.

Seeing the others at the inquiry, he took note of each. The shock was gone from their faces, as it had gone from his, the new state of being settling in. Morgan looked determined, and had regained his air of confidence. Emily Prentiss had become easier for Rossi to read over the past few years. Her deliberately controlled facies was betrayed by the nervous tics of her tapping feet and shredded nails. She carried pain for their mutual friend, in as stately a way as it could be carried.

Garcia was being Garcia, chattering nervously, her volume the only thing dampened by the situation.

That left Rossi to direct his attention to their two youngest agents, the least experienced with this kind of tragedy.

 _Or are they?_ He wondered.

Spencer Reid was certainly well-acquainted with loss. Perhaps Jennifer Jareau was, as well. Unless she chose to share, Rossi was certain he would never know. Reid wore his heart, as he did his watch, on his sleeve. JJ kept hers steadfastly within.

What Rossi did notice were her surreptitious looks in Reid's direction, an occasional fine wrinkling of her brow.

 _She's worried about him._

Which Rossi took to mean that Reid had been isolating himself. He knew of the friendship between the two, and had hoped they would take advantage of it to support one another through this. Seeing JJ's concern today told Rossi it hadn't happened.

Taking stock of the young man directly, Rossi was taken aback. He'd expected to see woundedness, maybe even a lack of direction. Reid had, after all, been mentored by Hotch in the wake of Gideon's abandonment. The obvious, tremendous esteem in which he held their unit chief had even sparked an unexpected bit of jealousy within Rossi, not that he would admit so, even to himself. It was only to be expected that the young man would grieve with, and for, his mentor.

But that wasn't the image Reid was projecting this day. Sitting at the round table with the others, his posture was straight, the set of his jaw firm. He radiated a degree of righteous anger that Rossi hadn't seen in him before.

 _He wears it pretty well._

Rossi shook his head, smiling to himself.

 _I underestimated the Kid. I thought he might cave to this, that he would feel like the rug had been pulled out from under him. Instead, he's looking out for Hotch, protecting his mentor. He's looking out for his team. He wants to protect his family._

Rossi mused on the transformation. He'd been too close to it to see it happening. Such things require perspective. But, in retrospect, it made sense. Reid had been morphing, bit by bit, molded by the experiences of the last six months.

 _He's been the victim so often that he'd gotten comfortable in the role. But seeing the people he cares about being victimized is a different thing entirely. And it's changing him._

If he thought about it, there had been an inkling back when Foyet had first attacked Hotch, but it had been diffused by the distraction of Reid's own injury. Still, it persisted, and once the young genius had been released from the hospital, his disconcertion about his unit chief's status had been the topic of more than one conversation between them. Reid had been worried about Hotch, and frustrated by his own physical limitations. And then he'd borne guilt and self-reprobation all over again when JJ had been injured. And now…..the ultimate crime, perpetrated against someone about whom Reid cared deeply, had precipitated the rest of the transformation process.

 _I can see it. You're done being a victim. You're done watching the people you love be victimized. You, my young friend, are ready to fight. But you're going to need to learn not to do it alone._

* * *

Two days later, Reid didn't look so determined. At the graveside, Rossi's attention was divided among his own grief, his particular shepherding of Hotch and Jack, and his ever-present vigilance about the state of his team. Several nights of internal conversation over his best single malt scotch had led him to conclude that Aaron _had_ to come back to the team, for his own sake, for the sake of his son, and for the sake of the work they all did together. And Rossi had become determined that, with the help of Derek Morgan, he would deliver a healthy team back to their rightful leader.

Only Garcia was openly weeping, as she clung to the arm of Morgan. Emily and JJ kept their faces stoic, despite the tears flowing freely. Spencer's face was also wet, and Rossi watched the movement of his throat as he repeatedly tried to swallow back his tears. His eyes were cast steadfastly forward, his gaze fixed on the coffin…..or, maybe, on an uncertain future. Reid didn't look like the resolved young man he'd been two days ago. He made a fragile figure, of uncertain age, leaning heavily on his cane as he preceded the others away from the grave. Rossi made a mental note to get some time alone with his young friend, as soon as circumstances permitted.

Within hours, those circumstances presented themselves when the team was cruelly pulled away from the reception. The urgency of the case forced them to spend the entire plane ride working, as it did much of the ensuing two days. It wasn't until they'd landed again at Quantico that Rossi had a chance to approach Reid.

"It's been a long week, Spencer. I could use a nightcap and some good conversation. What do you say?"

"I don't…" Reid didn't feel prepared to parry with Rossi tonight.

"Humor an old man, would you? I don't like to drink alone." _Not in public, anyway._

Reid eyed his senior colleague for a moment, uncertain. But, in the end, guilt prevailed, and he agreed.

"Mario's?"

"Mario's."

* * *

Remembering their last excursion, Reid insisted on sticking with water this time.

"I had a terrible headache the next day."

"You're supposed to hydrate. I'm surprised a genius wouldn't know that."

"Knowing and doing are two different things. It's hard to hydrate when you're out cold."

It was late, and they were due back at the BAU in the morning. Considering, Rossi decided their discussion of Reid's hangover would have to suffice for small talk. Time to get to the meat. He swirled his drink as he leaned forward across the table.

"So, how are you doing?"

It was almost comical watching Reid's defenses go up, as the young man muttered, too quickly, "Fine."

 _Sure hope you're better than that with an unsub, my friend._

Aloud, Rossi said, "You know, you're pretty good with that force field. You should see if you can market it to NASA."

"What?" Feigning confusion.

"Spencer."

Reid deflated, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, until he was leaning in to Rossi.

" _I_ should be asking _you_ that question. Really. I've been so selfish about all of this, I never even considered what it might be doing to you. You and Hotch go way back."

Rossi nodded, as he took another sip of his scotch.

"We do. And I grieve for him, and with him. What he's been through….what he'll be going through for a long time to come….is almost unimaginable. Almost. Except we don't have to imagine it, do we?"

They'd all heard it, together. And it was obvious that Reid was uncomfortable discussing what it had done to him. But Rossi had expertly brought the subject back around.

 _You're going to have to work harder, if you want to deflect around me, young one._

Reid started playing with a napkin. "No, we don't."

"So, once again, how are you doing?"

"Are you doing this with everyone, or just with me?" Trying not to sound like the resentful youngest child, and only minimally succeeding.

"I'm asking _you_. _Now_. Because you are my friend."

Rossi noticed Reid's fingers stop shredding the napkin, even before the young man looked up at him, a glint of honor in his eyes. How could he not answer….as a 'friend'?

"I'm….I don't know how I am. One minute I'm sad, and the next, I'm angry. Sometimes I think I'm angry enough to kill Foyet myself, if Hotch hadn't done it already. And then I realize what that would make me, and…"

Rossi sat back, stunned. This was something he hadn't considered at all. Reid was troubled about Hotch, not only for the loss of the man's family, but for the potential loss of his _identity_. Because, if Aaron Hotchner could kill a man with his bare hands, what was there to differentiate him from the people they hunted every day?

After a few seconds, Rossi found his voice. "He was protecting Jack. As long as Foyet was alive, he was a direct and immediate threat." The definition of a 'good kill'.

Reid was quick to clarify. "I know that. I'm not saying that what he did was wrong. I'm just…..I guess I'm saying that I hope _he_ knows that, when it hits him. But I'm also saying that I had that feeling that _I_ could kill. That I could get _that_ angry. And it scared me."

"A little anger is healthy, now and then. Sometimes it gives you an edge. And sometimes it takes the edge off."

"I don't need anything to take the edge off!"

Rossi flinched at the vehemence behind Reid's words. _What was that about?_

He put up a hand. "Didn't say you did. I'm the one drinking the scotch, remember?"

Embarrassed at his outburst, Reid apologized. "Sorry. I guess I'm a little more upset than I realized."

"It happens. All I was trying to say is that sometimes, a little anger…..pointed in the right direction, mind you…..can be helpful. The things we see….no one should ever have to see. Be angry at that. Someone you and I both care deeply about has been hurt through the actions of another. Be angry at that. Be angry at whomever, and whatever, brings these monsters into being. Be angry at whomever, or whatever, gets in the way of stopping them."

The expression on Reid's face told Rossi that the young man was listening intently. When Rossi was finished, Reid responded.

"I _do_ feel that way. I've always fought that feeling before, you know? Because I felt almost as sorry for the unsubs as I did for the victims. They're mostly all victims themselves, after all. But, when this happened…..and when I realized my reaction….I got scared. And I realized it was wrong to direct my anger at people. I need to direct it at a situation."

Rossi didn't quite agree. "Sometimes it's people who _create_ a situation."

Reid had already been there. "I know. And that's the part I'm having trouble with."

Rossi nodded, understanding the dilemma now.

"You're having trouble reconciling your reaction to this whole thing with the way you've always looked at things in the past. You're wondering if it's changed you."

 _It's not Hotch's identity you're worried about. It's your own_.

Reid nodded. "Exactly. I mean, it _has_ changed me. That much I know. I'm just not sure it's a good thing."

Before Rossi could respond, Reid went on. Now that Rossi had gotten him started, it seemed he would have trouble stopping.

"The truth is, I _am_ worried about Hotch, you're right. What he did to Foyet aside…..how does someone get past what he's been through? How do you witness the death of someone you love, at the hands of someone else, and still carry on with your own life? How do you even think about coming to work? How do you get out of bed in the morning? How do you even open your eyes? I know it sounds strange, coming from me. I've never even had a date, after all. Well, besides JJ. But I do know what it's like to love someone. And I can't even imagine how he's doing it. If I were Hotch…..if the woman I loved was killed right in front of me…..I don't think I could go on. I think it would end me."


	14. Chapter 14

**Of Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 14**

Just two weeks later, Hotch was back. And it was Emily who was nearly lost to them.

That morning, JJ sat on the edge of Reid's desk, celebrating a new stability to his step with a mug of coffee. Much more quickly than had the crutches, the cane had become second nature to Reid. And every bit as subtly, it had been relied upon less and less.

"It looks like you're almost ready to walk on your own, Spence. Will it feel strange, after all this time?"

"I've already done a fair amount, in rehab. And I hardly ever use the cane around my apartment."

Not mentioning that the stairs still pretty much took it out of him. His knee was definitely stronger, but it wasn't all that much less painful.

 _I've just gotten used to a life whose baseline is pain._ In more ways than one.

They'd gone a few weeks without Hotch, during which the man's absence, and the reason for it, was ever present in the mind of the team genius. He suspected it to be true of the others as well, but he couldn't be sure, because they didn't talk about it. As though by unwritten rule, each member of the team went about their work with the same professional diligence as always. On the surface, it looked like they were too busy to discuss it, too embroiled in the high stakes of their jobs. Reid could only wonder if beneath the veneer, they felt the same level of turmoil that was constantly present in him.

Would they lose one of their own? Had they done so already? Was the work worth the risk? If not them doing it, then who? Would it be selfishness, to think about handing the responsibility over to someone else? Cowardice?

Reid's insomnia was raging, and not just from his worry over Hotch. Ever since the shooting, he'd only managed to control his pain by keeping his knee immobile. Now that he was using it more and more, the pain took hours to subside every night, and then came shooting back every time he moved in his sleep. He'd taken to wearing the heavy brace to bed at night, just to keep it still. But he couldn't very well carry the bulky contraption with him onto the plane without letting everyone know he was suffering, and that was the last thing they needed. He assumed they were all struggling emotionally as much as he was. He knew it took every ounce of focus he could muster, to get through each day. He didn't want to be a distraction.

JJ's eyes were keener than the rest, where Reid was concerned. He knew she'd seen his discomfort, no matter how hard he'd tried to mask it, just as he knew she'd also seen that deeper pain, the one he didn't really want to talk about. Respecting that desire, she kept their conversation light, even if her level of concern was anything but.

They were still chatting at his desk when Rossi emerged from Hotch's office, followed by the man himself.

 _Thank God! I think._

Reid tilted his head upward to alert JJ of the movement in the mezzanine hallway, and she turned to look.

"I wasn't sure this day would come," she admitted.

"Me neither. But I'm glad. I think. I just hope he doesn't feel like he has to do it for us."

She waited as Reid used his cane to push himself up, willing herself not to notice the grimace on his face as he did so. As they started toward the stairs, she purposely slowed her usual gait, to match his.

"I know what you mean."

* * *

It _had_ looked like a win. Unsub caught, kidnapped daughter returned to her mother, traumatized unit chief successfully returned to active duty. And then JJ came rushing into their borrowed conference room, and it all fell apart.

"There's been an accident. Bunting's dead. Emily's at the hospital. And Shrader's in the wind."

All Reid really heard was that someone was dead, and Emily….. Emily...

"Is she all right?" Trying not to sound as frantic as he felt.

"Morgan's with her," was the unhelpful answer.

They'd all gone into action, even Emily, who, thank God, had only suffered a concussion. They'd found their unsub, and the undercover cop he'd been blackmailing, and the cop's family….and it had, once again, looked like a win. But it had taken its toll on all of them.

Rossi spent the entire plane ride with Hotch, feeling him out, supporting him in his doubt. It had been his old friend's first case back, and they'd gotten the profile all wrong, losing a cop and injuring one of their own in the process. Rossi's own confidence in the team's soundness had been shaken, but he knew he couldn't let that be seen by any of the others. So he focused his attention on their leader, hoping that strength and confidence would find a way to filter from the top down.

Not that he hadn't taken notice of the others. Morgan, once he'd settled Emily comfortably into a seat, had put in his 'keep away' ear phones, and closed his eyes. JJ had wandered over to keep her female colleague company, but both of them seemed to be spending more time looking out the window than chatting. And Reid had separated himself to the back of the plane, book open in front of him, nary a page turned since they'd taken off.

Once landed, they exited quickly, save Reid, who made a show of getting his messenger bag together. But Rossi waited him out, and spotted the hint of a limp, even with the support of the seats on either side of the plane.

"Knee bothering you?"

"What? Oh, no. It's…..it's just stiff, from sitting."

"Uh-huh."

Coming down the stairs behind Reid, Rossi couldn't see the tell tale grimace of pain on his face. But JJ was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, and reacted.

"Let me take your bag, Spence. I'll walk you to your car."

Reid declined, aware that Rossi was still watching.

"I'll be fine. Give Henry a hug for me, okay?"

She hesitated, but then, apparently realizing Reid's reluctance to look like he needed help, she went along with him.

"Will do. See you guys tomorrow."

Reid turned to walk to his car, but stopped when he heard Rossi's voice calling after him.

"Spencer, are you busy tonight?"

The younger man turned back. "Um…I guess not. Why, do you need me?"

"The editor sent back the last chapter. Apparently it wasn't 'young' enough."

Reid leaned heavily on his cane. "I'm sorry." The voice of youth having been his primary reason for involvement. "I guess I haven't been feeling all that young lately myself."

Rossi gave him a slap on the back. "Happens to the best of us, my friend. And totally understandable, given what's been going on. So, are you up for trying to fix it? Shouldn't take us too long, just a few phrases here and a few phrases there."

"I guess I could. But …are you sure you don't want to just try it without me? I obviously don't have the voice you thought I would have."

It was true that Reid's language wasn't exactly going to appeal to the younger crowd. But the book project had long since ceased to be about that. It had become a different project altogether, for David Rossi. And it wasn't quite finished.

"Hey, you gave me that 'first person' idea. Maybe you'll have more. Come on over, and you can stay for dinner. I had a few friends in for a poker game, and the caterer overestimated how much food we would need."

"You had a poker game _catered_?"

"Only the best for my friends, my friend. What do you say?"

Reid hesitated a second, then replied. "I guess I could come for a while."

"And stay for dinner."

"And stay for dinner. Thanks."

* * *

They set up at Rossi's over-sized kitchen island. Reid was grateful for the use of a tall stool, which allowed him to keep his knee largely stretched out. The editing didn't exactly come easily for either of them, but they got it done in a couple of hours.

Once they were finished, Rossi pushed the pages away and rose, stretching.

"Ah, feels good to move. Feels good to have that behind us, too, doesn't it?"

"Absolutely." Reid agreed, still feeling anything but 'youthful'.

Rossi wandered over to his also-over-sized bar, and opened a bottle of scotch. Raising it, he looked his invitation to Reid.

"No, thanks. I have to drive, remember?"

 _And I think we both know by now that I can't exactly hold it._

"Fair enough. Do you mind if I….?"

"Of course not. Listen, I should probably get going…."

Rossi waved him back to his seat. "Have dinner first. You have to eat, right? Tell me the truth…..you were just going to stop and get some take out, weren't you?"

He was right, and Reid was hungry enough to concede so. "Guilty."

* * *

An hour later, Reid was glad for his decision.

"Do you always cater your poker games with Veal Oscar?"

Rossi smiled at the satisfied tone to his companion's voice.

"Thinking about defecting from chess, are you?"

"Maybe."

The younger man had insisted on cleaning up the few dishes they'd sullied, and was now drying his hands on a towel. He'd left his cane at his seat, but came to regret that, as he turned just the wrong way and had to grab the counter for balance.

Rossi brought the cane over to him, commenting as he did so.

"You're wincing. Are you still having that much pain?"

"It comes and goes. I'm all right."

It wasn't exactly an opening, but it would have to do. Editing the book chapter hadn't exactly been a pretense; it had, after all, been a necessary task. It just hadn't been the most important reason Rossi had wanted to speak with Reid.

 _Not speak, really. I want to listen to him. The kid needs to talk, whether he realizes it or not._

Rossi moved back over to the bar area, poured two snifters of brandy, and ushered Reid into his great room.

"Think you can handle this?"

Reid smiled as he accepted the liquor. "Probably. Thanks."

Rossi took a chair next to the sofa where Reid had seated himself. He leaned back and sipped his drink.

"So, let's have it."

Reid wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to say.

"Let's have what?"

"It was Hotch's first case back, and we blew it. Are you worried?"

The young man was taken aback. "Should I be?"

"I don't think so. We're not exactly dealing with logic and sanity out there, are we? We're bound to get one wrong now and then."

Reid was more familiar with statistical probabilities than were any of his colleagues. He agreed with Rossi, in principle. But…

"I know that. I think the question is…..does Hotch? Did it throw _him_?"

Rossi was torn. He'd raised the issue to get at Reid's state of mind. Given their last conversation, he knew the young man's fears for their mutual friend and colleague. But now he was being asked to report on said colleague's state of mind. And, even though he was, in truth, worried about Hotch, he didn't feel like he should admit as much to Reid. So he did his best to deflect.

"What do _you_ think?"

Reid was reclining back against the sofa cushion, his long legs stretched out in front of him. At Rossi's question, he leaned forward…..still keeping that one leg stretched out.

"I hope it didn't. Throw him, that is. I hope he knows it was just a fluke. He wasn't the only one who got it wrong. We all did. It's just…."

 _Here we go._ "Just what?"

The young man shook his head. "It's just that I still don't know how he's doing it. I'm worried. I mean….it changes you, you know? And then, when you try to come back from it….from...from something….it's not the same. _You're_ not the same."

That moment, that very moment, Rossi wished he could beat his head against a brick wall.

 _You idiot. You IDIOT! Of course it was never about Aaron. It's about him! It's always been about him!_

He'd known of Reid's own personal work-related trauma. Like everyone else in the FBI, he'd heard through the grapevine about the capture and torture of a young agent, who had ultimately saved himself. In fact, Rossi had heard more than most, because he'd talked about it with Hotch, when he'd first joined the team. He'd even gotten Reid to talk about it a little. Now, thinking back, he realized that Reid had mostly talked about what it had been like for JJ.

 _He never really told me what happened to him._

And yet, it hadn't quite occurred to him that Reid's distress over their unit chief's trauma was caused by anything more than the younger man putting himself in Hotch's shoes.

 _You IDIOT!_ Not quite done berating himself. _Mr. I-founded-the-BAU and you haven't even been listening! He's been telling you, and you haven't been listening!_

But it wasn't too late to start. Rossi laid his drink on the table and leaned forward, forearms on knees. He tilted his face so he could catch Reid's eyes.

" _You_ came back from something pretty horrible, didn't you? And you made it work, you seem to be doing okay. How did _you_ manage it?"

Reid's head hung, and his response was so soft that Rossi couldn't hear. He had to ask the question again.

"Say what? Couldn't hear you, sorry. What was it that got you back and able to work?"

The bent head raised, the eyes in it filled with such misery that Rossi had to squelch a reflex to reach out to the young man.

"Nothing. I came back, but I was hardly able to work. Hotch was just too understanding to point it out to me."

Rossi didn't follow. "Maybe he was understanding because he'd seen agents have to deal with trauma before. Maybe his expectations were lower than yours."

That was met with an unexpected snort, and Rossi felt lost. The bitterness of the words that followed confounded him further still.

Reid repeated himself. "I said, maybe his expectations weren't low enough."

Rossi's eyes narrowed in concern and bewilderment.

"Spencer, I'm feeling at a loss here. Maybe we should back up a little bit. We're talking about that case in Georgia, right?"

"I don't think I …"

Rossi laid a hand on his friend's knee.

"You _need_ to. That much is obvious. So, tell me."

Reid shook his head. "I can't…. _we_ can't….talk about some of it. It could cause trouble."

An old, familiar, sense of dread began to rise in Rossi. Something that couldn't be revealed had happened to Reid, or been done by him. Rossi hadn't had this sensation since his days in Vietnam, where other unspeakable things had been done, or experienced, by people he cared about. And he was all too familiar with the consequences of leaving those things unspoken.

 _I couldn't do anything about it as a twenty-something. But I can damn well do something about it now._

"Spencer, I've already retired once. I have nothing to lose with the FBI, and little to gain. You're not going to find a better ear. Now, please, tell me."

He could read it in the younger man's posture, the desire to unburden himself. The need. Rossi tapped the reluctant knee once again.

"Spencer."

Sorrow welled in Reid's eyes as he looked up at Rossi. If he told his story, he risked losing the esteem of someone whose esteem he'd come to value very much. But the senior profiler's return gaze was compelling.

"All right."


	15. Chapter 15

Of **Genius and Gentility**

 **Chapter 15**

Reid took a few seconds more to gird himself, and then began.

"I've already told you how it started. JJ and I went on what we thought was a routine interview, and it turned out to be the unsub. Tobias Hankel."

Rossi nodded. "And you separated, trying to capture him. And he somehow overpowered you and took you….where?"

Purposely moving them forward, past the point of JJ's trauma, not wanting Reid's lingering guilt to interrupt the narrative.

"I think it was some kind of hunting cabin or something. All I know is that it was cold, and damp. I don't remember anything about getting there. They told me later that I'd had a blow to my head, so I must have had a concussion. When I woke up, I was tethered to a chair. He'd taken my coat, and I was freezing, and I kept forgetting that I couldn't move my hands, and I just kept trying to raise them so I could rub some heat into my arms, and…"

The pace of Reid's speech had picked up alarmingly, and Rossi became concerned that he'd triggered a flashback. He mentally berated himself once again.

 _Nice going, Mr. Profiler-in-Chief. Maybe you should be thinking about that second retirement._

To Reid, he offered advice…and another pour of brandy.

"Take your time. Here, take a sip."

Reid was embarrassed at having gotten caught up in it, and apologized.

"I'm sorry. I just….I haven't talked about this in a while. Not since..."

 _Not ever. Not all of it._

In his post-incident debrief, as it had been called, Reid had given the facts as best he could remember them. But he'd not told of the terror, nor the dread, nor the relief he'd felt from the drugs, nor the craving to feel it again. He'd never spoken of those things to anyone. And he still wasn't quite sure he could do it now.

But he knew, as well as he knew anything, that it was time. He might be expert at denial about his own needs, but his concern for Hotch had made him into a realist. No one could carry those kinds of burdens for very long, without falling to them. As he very well knew.

Rossi watched as a curious mix of expressions molded, and then rapidly remolded, Reid's features. When at last he saw a look of resolution, he encouraged his young colleague again.

"When you're ready…."

Reid flashed Rossi a look of thanks, and gave his embarrassed half smile. "I guess I need to, don't I?"

"Well, you don't _have_ to. But, yes, I think you _need_ to."

Reid nodded. "Okay. So….I woke up in the cabin and…..I was with one of them."

"One of _them_?"

"Tobias Hankel had three personalities. His father's personality was the dominant. And then there was Raphael, the avenger…..I think he did most of the killings. And I was with….I don't….I'm not even sure who I was with first. Some of it is still not clear to me."

Rossi nodded. "The concussion."

Reid didn't confirm or deny. It _might_ have been the concussion. Or it might have been something else.

"I'm only sure that it wasn't Tobias. He was the kind personality, and he came much later. He came after..."

The young man's voice had trailed off, but Rossi heard what Reid hadn't said. Tobias, the kind personality, had come after the other personalities had done whatever they'd done to Reid. His companion seemed to be having trouble forming the words, so Rossi did it for him.

"Are you saying he hurt you?" Whichever one 'he' was.

Reid's head bowed. "He beat me."

Three simple words, and the unwarranted posture of shame in the person uttering them, and Rossi felt his Italian rising. Tobias Hankel wouldn't have stood a chance, had he been in the room with them.

 _Get it under control, Don Corleone. Let the boy tell his story._

Rossi calmed himself with a deep breath, and prompted Reid again.

"He beat you."

Reid nodded. "The first time, he told me I was a sinner, and said I deserved to be punished. The other times...most of them, he didn't say anything. He just started in. Some of the time, it wasn't so bad, I remember that. But, when he beat my feet.."

"Your _feet_?"

"He took off my shoes and socks, and he had this piece of pipe or a poker or something...I don't remember, only that it was heavy... and he swung it at the soles of my feet. Over, and over, he just kept hitting them, and hitting, and...it was the most painful thing I've ever felt. It was like the pain spread through every part of my body. And then, when he was done with the soles, he hit the tops of them a few times, for good measure. I found out later that there were a couple of small bones broken in each foot."

The profiler in Rossi knew that forcing a victim to bare his feet was a form of humiliation. That it had been done to Reid, as a prelude to torturing him, was almost unimaginable. Almost. But David Rossi had seen a great many 'unimaginable' things in his time, and it wasn't long before his mind presented him an image of the young man before him, helpless and at the mercy of a merciless killer. Once upon a time such an image would have enraged Rossi. But, tonight, it simply filled him with a deep, unexpected, sorrow.

"I'm sorry, Spencer."

Reid shook it off, intent, now, on telling his tale.

"He kept leaving the cabin and coming back in, and I never knew which personality it was until he started speaking. That's what got me in trouble a couple of times. I said the wrong thing to the father personality, and he became enraged, and I'd get beaten all over again. I think he probably did the same to Tobias, as a boy. That's probably what caused the split."

Deflecting the pain of the process by analyzing even as he was telling the story. Rossi noticed the softening of Reid's tone.

"You related with the Tobias personality."

Reid nodded. "He tried to help me. I almost got him to release me, near the end….but then his father returned."

Rossi closed his eyes, trying to take it in. It was bizarre to hear Reid speaking of the different personalities as if they were separate people.

"How did Tobias help you?"

Reid reached immediately for his brandy, and Rossi knew he'd hit on something. But what?

No sip, this time. Reid took a gulp, and then winced as it burned its way down. Then he continued.

"He treated my pain."

Rossi narrowed his eyes. "How?"

"Tobias Hankel had a drug habit. He'd become addicted to dilaudid, which he usually mixed with ecstasy. I assume it was his only means of escape from his father. So, when it was Tobias who came into the cabin, he always came with a needle and a syringe."

"And the other personalities didn't know?"

Reid shook his head. "It was only Tobias."

"And he drugged you."

Reid couldn't make eye contact, but he nodded.

"At first, I could see what he meant to do, and I begged him not to. I _begged_ him."

Emphatic and pleading at the same time, as though trying to convince himself of his own innocence in the process.

"But he injected me. And I would dream..." pausing for a moment of reverie, and Rossi couldn't tell whether it was good or bad, "...and I had no pain, for a little while."

Rossi didn't know quite what to say. He was appalled at what his companion had been through, and still just a bit perversely grateful that Reid been granted some relief from his physical torture.

"And then?"

"It happened a few times. I kept asking him to stop, until…..until…"

Rossi leaned forward. Reid's voice had fallen to a whisper. "Until what, Spencer?"

Reid stared off into the past.

"Until he made me watch Raphael kill someone. He had hijacked a bunch of people's computer cameras, and was watching them in their homes. And he told me to pick someone to die. Just like that. Just pick a random person or family, from one of the monitors. But I wouldn't. _I couldn't_. So I thought I'd be smart, and pick someone to live." Reid hung his head in a gesture of defeat. "Stupid me. He let me pick this random woman to live. And then Rafael chose one of the other monitors, and went to that home and killed the couple who lived there. They hadn't done anything wrong. It was just that I hadn't said they should live. I had to watch that couple _die_ just because I hadn't picked them to live."

There was deep anguish in the young man's tone, and Rossi felt himself becoming incensed.

 _They let him live with this, all this time?_ Angry with Gideon, and even with Hotch. _They didn't get him into therapy? Why?_

Reid was too caught up in the past to notice Rossi's reaction in the present.

"The next time Tobias came with the drugs, I _wanted_ them. I didn't try to fight him anymore. I told him they helped me."

Rossi heard the guilt, and was quick to challenge it.

"It wasn't your fault, Spencer. You had no control."

Reid shook his head. "I might have had no control over whether he gave them to me. But I had complete control over wanting them."

Rossi was more forceful, this time. "No, you didn't. You had no control. You do not own this, Spencer."

Reid's smile this time was grim, and sarcastic. _Just wait._ He resumed his narrative.

"The father personality…..Charles….he came back in and he saw the track marks on my arm. That made him even more angry than he'd been before, and he started to beat me again, only this time, he beat me all over. All I remember is one blow after another, my head, my face...he landed a blow in my abdomen, and I couldn't breathe. I thought I was dying. And then...I don't remember this part, but the others saw it on the video link….he tipped the chair back, and I hit my head, and I _did_ stop breathing. And then Tobias came and gave me CPR. He brought me back. Tobias saved my life."

 _Right after he nearly took it,_ thought Rossi.

The senior profiler was beginning to think _he_ might need debriefing after simply listening to the story, and he realized just how much Hotch had whitewashed the version he'd shared. Now, hearing that the others had virtually witnessed the beating death of one of their own, he wondered if _all_ of the team should have gone through therapy.

"After that, Raphael tried to get me to choose another team member to die. I told you about this part, right? That was when I first realized that JJ was still alive, when he said there were still six other team members."

"Right. And that's how you got the message to Hotch, correct? By using the wrong Bible passage? Risky…and brilliant."

Reid shrugged off the compliment. "I had nothing else. I had already begged him to kill me, instead. But I knew the others wouldn't give up. They would keep trying to find me. And I was afraid he might kill more people before they could. So I had to try."

"And you succeeded. They _did_ find you. But I was told you killed Hankel yourself. What happened? Did he resist, after they'd arrived?"

Rossi's mistaken assumption told Reid that the older man hadn't heard the whole story.

"Hankel was already dead, before they found me."

The heavy Italian brows raised. "How?"

"Charles had had enough of me. He decided it was time for me to die. So he brought me into the woods, and…"

Rossi interrupted. "What? How could you walk, with two broken feet?"

"He didn't give me a choice. It was excruciating, at first. I was still barefoot, and every stone and every twig felt like a needle. But it was so cold, after a while I couldn't really feel my feet anyway."

Images came to Rossi's mind of the thin young man, shivering, dazed, in pain, walking to a certain death. And, once again, the anger he'd expected to feel was replaced with an overpowering sorrow.

His voice was soft now. "And then?"

Not really wanting to hear more, but feeling as though he needed to stand witness, even to events years in the past.

"And then, he found the spot he was looking for, and he handed me a shovel."

Rossi's eyes deadened. "To dig your own grave."

Reid nodded. "He just sat there, gun in hand, and watched me. If I hadn't thought the others might still come, I would have given up. I mean, why cooperate? He was going to kill me anyway. Who would it hurt, if I was gone? My mother was taken care of. I had no one else. So, I thought about it."

As pathetic as some of those words were, Rossi could relate to them. Despite three marriages, he had no remaining family to speak of. Being alone in the world was its own kind of freedom, but it was also its own kind of pain. It could lead one to make rash decisions. Unless...

"You had faith."

Reid misunderstood.

"In the others, yes. In Hotch. So I did as I was told to do, until I had no strength left in me. He got angry at that, and grabbed the shovel himself. That's when I realized he'd put the gun down. So I grabbed it, and I shot him."

"You shot Tobias Hankel."

Reid shook his head. "I shot _Charles_ Hankel. But it was Tobias who died."

He could see that Rossi didn't understand.

"It was Charles who was going to kill me. But Tobias emerged after I shot him. He asked me if I thought he would see his mother, after he died. And I apologized to him."

Along the way, over the past few months, in this process of getting to know one another, Rossi had come to see that Reid's was a complexly layered personality. But he'd never quite understood the extent of that complexity before this moment.

 _He apologized to the man who tried to kill him, because, even in his weakness, even in his terror, he managed to find a well of compassion. How deep that well must run._

Aloud, he responded to Reid.

"You apologized to him for killing him."

Reid nodded. "It wasn't Tobias' fault. He had no control over what his alters were doing."

Rossi chose not to argue the point. He wanted to know more about what had happened.

"And then, what? You were outside, freezing, with broken bones in your feet. It had been two days, right? You probably hadn't had anything to eat or drink, either."

"I don't think I could have kept anything down. But Tobias did give me a few sips of water."

"A few sips. So add dehydration to the list. You were probably pretty near death yourself, Spencer. How did the team find you?"

"They found the cabin first, but I obviously wasn't there. They found me when they heard the gunshot."

With that, Rossi thought they were at the end of the tale. He looked his young friend up and down.

"You know, for a pipecleaner…." reminding Reid of an insult launched at him a few years ago, "…you're one hell of a badass. I don't think there are too many of us who would have been strong enough to withstand what you did."

"I wasn't strong. I was weak. I argued with Charles that I wasn't, but he was right. I was weak."

"How can you say that? Because of the drugs? Because you were in so much pain that you needed relief? You beat yourself up over _that_?" Rossi sounded incredulous.

Reid had to consciously fight the urge not to tell him.

 _You've come this far. And he's right. You need to face it. You're going to keep needing to face it until it sticks._

And so, he confessed. "I was weak because...Tobias Hankel died with two vials of drugs in his pocket. But they're not listed anywhere in the evidence roster, because….bec….because I took them."

Averting his eyes. At great cost, he'd gotten it out, but he couldn't bring himself to meet Rossi's gaze after he did so.

Rossi sat, stunned. Reid had stolen narcotics laced with a hallucinogen, from the dead body of a perpetrator he'd killed. The idea would have been ludicrous, if it hadn't been true. Now it was the senior profiler's turn to stumble over his words.

"Did….didn't anyone realize? Did you tell anyone you'd been drugged? No, scratch that, you went to the hospital, didn't you? Didn't _they_ figure it out?"

"They found opiates in my system, and they found the needle marks. So, yes, I told them I'd been drugged. They looked for the vials at the cabin, but, when they didn't find them, they assumed he'd just dropped them somewhere in the forest."

Reid still hadn't made eye contact, and Rossi wasn't having it.

"Look at me, please. Are you saying you took those drugs with the intention of using them?"

The eyes that moved to his were full of remorse.

"I _did_ use them, Rossi. The hospital gave me something milder for my pain, and I thought that might be the end of it. But then I came back to work….and I couldn't focus. I kept having flashbacks. Did you ever realize how many serial killers dump their victims in the woods? And, every time, even when it wasn't the woods, I would flash, and I would remember what it felt like to know that the only thing in my future was pain, and death…. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't do my job. All I wanted to do was to escape…and I remembered what it had felt like when Tobias had injected me. For a little while, each time, it had all gone away. And I needed that so badly. After a while, I began to crave it, so…."

Rossi understood. "So you used them."

He got up and poured more brandy into both snifters. He had a feeling they were going to need it.

Reid responded with a slow, sad, nod of his head.

"And no one realized?" Rossi couldn't imagine it had gone unnoticed.

"I think they _all_ realized, after a while. Between the flashbacks and the drugs, my circadian rhythm was shot. I was late all the time, I even fell asleep once in the middle of giving a profile. Gideon told the police that I'd been up all night, but I hadn't. I was snapping at people. To this day, I'm surprised Emily even talks to me."

"And no one helped?"

Reid shook his head. "I think Hotch and Gideon _thought_ they were helping me by not turning me in. But, once they chose that path, they couldn't very well acknowledge that they'd known about it. None of them could, without being complicit, because I was a federal agent, abusing a controlled substance. They had a duty to turn me in. By not doing so, all of us could have lost our jobs."

Rossi nodded, understanding at last. "So no one could talk about it, and what…..they thought you'd just get over it? You _did_ get over it, didn't you?" Hanging on the answer.

Reid assured him. "In time. But, back then…. I should have resigned. I knew I'd put everyone in jeopardy. If I hadn't been so weak, I would have walked away, for their sakes."

Rossi let the 'weak' go, for the moment.

"How _did_ you stop, then?"

Reid heaved a sigh. "We were in New Orleans, on a case. I blew an assignment, disobeyed a direct order from Gideon. I'd run into an old friend, someone who had even gone through the Academy with me, before deciding that the FBI wasn't for him. He saw it right away, and he called me out on it."

"And, what, just like that," snapping his fingers, "you were cured?"

Reid understood the irony in his friend's tone. "No. Just like that, I found my spine. I realized what I was doing, and I realized what was important to me. I don't know, maybe it was just because enough time had passed, maybe my PTSD was waning, maybe it was all coincidence. But I came home and threw out the rest of it. I had to ask Hotch for some sick time, but I was only out about a week."

Rossi's brows were up again. "You went through opiate withdrawal by yourself? That can be dangerous, can't it?"

"I couldn't involve anyone else, it wasn't safe for them. I managed."

Rossi had seen some of his war buddies in the throes of withdrawal. He knew just how brutal it could be. He whistled.

"You'd better stop calling yourself weak, my friend. It takes some major cojones just to make the decision to withdraw, let alone to pull it off by yourself."

Reid wasn't having it. "I put myself into that position in the first place by giving in. I didn't know how to handle the pain I was having, especially when it was no longer a physical pain. I just knew I didn't want to live with it."

Rossi studied the young man across from him, the one who was so adept at beating himself up.

"And this is why you're worried about Hotch?"

Reid felt trapped in the answer. He didn't want to say that he thought Hotch couldn't deal with things. But, once upon a time, he'd seen _himself_ as someone who knew how to deal with things. He had, after all, been 'dealing with things' for most of his life. Until Hankel.

 _We all have our breaking points._

"I trust Hotch. I do. But…..Rossi, I never in my life would have believed I could become a drug addict. _Never._ I know I've never come across as all that socially confident….mostly because I'm not…but I've always had confidence in my mind. In my intelligence. And, most of all, in my integrity. And I lost it all. _All of it_. I lost who I thought I was…because, apparently, I'm _not_ that person. I'm someone who couldn't handle being the same as every victim we've ever encountered. I couldn't handle not being above that. I couldn't handle the pain, the anxiety…..the terror. It changed me, Rossi. Or maybe it just uncovered who I really was, all along."

Bitterness and self-contempt infusing the final sentence.

"Spencer…" Rossi began to reach out to him, but Reid wasn't done berating himself. His voice broke as he finished.

"I wanted to do something with my life. To be someone who helped other people. I didn't want to be one of the people who needed help. I wanted to be someone my mother could be proud of. Someone _I_ could be proud of….and instead, I lived up to every low expectation my father ever had of me."

Tears streamed down the young man's face. Rossi moved over to sit beside him, and laid his arm across Reid's back.

"I think I told you this once before….but your father is a fool. And his son is _not_ the disappointment you've said he is. Your father's son outlived and outwitted a psychotic serial killer. He was bruised and battered in the process, yes….including his ego. But, Spencer…..you _survived_. You s _urvived_ it. Do you know how many people couldn't have done that? How many people would have given up hope? You said yourself that you kept _digging your own grave_ , in what you thought were the minutes before your death, because you held out hope that your team would understand an extremely cryptic message, and find you. _That's_ how badly you wanted to live. _That's_ how strong you are. You, more than anyone, would have known the burdens you would have to live with, after that. _And yet you still chose life_."

Reid sniffled. "But…"

"No 'buts'. You found out you were human, big whoop. You stumbled. But you got yourself back up again, and again, _you_ _chose life._ "

"But it's still an issue. It still causes problems. I haven't been able to do my full job since the shooting, just because I can't take narcotics. That's why this damn rehab is taking so long."

"And I can't run the 400 in less than a minute, and Morgan can't decode a double-encrypted message…or even a single-encrypted one, for that matter. We all have things we can't do, Spencer."

"But…."

"I told you, no 'buts'. Listen, I get why you didn't want to share this with me, but I'm glad you did. You've been carrying an unnecessary burden for years, and it's time for you to let go of it."

But Reid had one more burden to lay on the table.

"I craved again, about a year later. I even went to some meetings."

Rossi squinted. He'd been with the team by then. Had he missed something?

"You did? Why didn't I …" And then he remembered. That case where Reid had been careening out of control, where he'd actually placed himself between his team and their unsub, as a means of protecting the boy. "Ah. Texas."

Reid nodded. "Texas. See, you remember. That's what I mean. I wasn't even using any more, but the craving alone made me unpredictable and unreliable. I had half the police in that town angry with me, and even the principal of the school."

"And you saved the boy's life. It wasn't a liability, Spencer."

"But it could have been. Hotch sure thought so."

"So you _have_ talked to him about it?"

Reid shook his head. "But he knew. He could see I was struggling, and he encouraged me to get help."

"And did you?"

"I had already gone to a meeting. And then I went to a few more."

That made Rossi wonder about some of the other times Reid had absented himself, even recently.

"Do you still go?"

"When I need to."

Rossi nodded. "Okay, so, you battled an addiction and won, you're making certain to keep your armor up when you need to, and you manage to be a valuable, contributing member of the team. If there's weakness in there, I sure don't see it."

When he put it that way, Reid had to concede. "Not now, maybe. But, before…."

"'Before' was its own time. If I'm honest, I think you're right. There will be a 'before' and an 'after' for Hotch, too. Luckily, he's got a team full of good friends who will see him through it. And some of us, the ones who can relate…..we'll be there in the dark times. Agreed?"

It sounded like Rossi was offering himself as an ally and Reid wasn't about to turn him down. "Agreed."

Their conversation had been long, and draining. His energy depleted, Reid slumped back against the sofa cushion, looking both physically and emotionally exhausted. Seeing, Rossi was moved to do one thing more for him.

"Come here," said the older man, rising. The younger followed suit. When he felt Rossi's arms go around him, Reid stiffened, caught off guard. But then, feeling the warmth in them, the affection, the strength, he gave himself over to the embrace.

Rossi felt Reid relax in his arms. It felt like the welcome weight of paternal responsibility, and he wondered, just for an instant, if this was what it might have been like if James had lived. For just the few seconds duration of the embrace, the fatherless child and the childless father fulfilled an aching, yet unacknowledged, need in one another.

When they broke apart, Reid wobbled unsteadily, and it was clear to Rossi that he was in no condition to drive.

"Look at you, you can't keep your eyes open. Come on, I've got a guest room upstairs. Four of them, actually."

Reid wasn't intoxicated by anything but the relief of having unburdened himself. But he was definitely too tired to drive. And he didn't think his knee could handle the stairs tonight.

"Can I just sleep here, on the couch?"

Rossi shrugged. "Why not?" He went in search of pillows and blankets, leaving Reid a few moments to himself.

He hadn't expected any of what had happened tonight. Hadn't expected the conversation, nor the tears, nor the embrace. But, as emotionally difficult as it had been, he felt heartened. He'd shared his darkest secret with someone whose respect he'd come to treasure. He'd risked losing it all….the partnership, the good standing, the respect….because he felt he owed Rossi his honesty. And he'd been rewarded with something that felt like so much more. Something he'd had so little contact with, in his life, that he had trouble finding the right word for it.

Long after Rossi had returned with the sleep necessities, and bid him good night….long after Reid had stretched out on the sofa, and laid his head on the pillow….long after the embers had burned down in the fireplace…..even long after he'd fallen asleep, Reid's mind continued its search for that one, elusive word.


	16. Chapter 16

_**A.N. Apologies for the long delay. I was distracted by the travails of a certain genius mistakenly thrown into prison.**_

* * *

 _ **Of Genius and Gentility**_

 _ **Chapter 16**_

Rossi moved silently down the stairs, combing his memory for the last time he'd needed to be quiet in the morning. He'd given up on sleep a few hours ago, after tossing and turning much of the night. One didn't exactly retire to restful slumber after hearing a story like the one he'd heard last night, nor when one had been so close to the anguish of another. Part of him was grateful that he'd not been asleep long enough to have a nightmare. But the rest of him realized it hadn't really mattered. Behind the fruitlessly closed lids of his eyes, he'd pictured every moment of the isolation and terror and torture Reid had described.

At least it was Saturday. Not that serial killers took the weekend off, but, unless in the midst of a highly active case, the BAU tried to follow a conventional work week. It was the only way they could even pretend to have normal relationships with family and friends.

On his way to the kitchen, Rossi peered into room where he'd left Reid last night, half expecting to find the sofa empty, and the young man gone. But, no, there he was, stretched out on his back, softly snoring. It surprised Rossi to think that Reid had been able to sleep so restfully, while he himself had struggled so much.

 _Maybe it's because he finally let go of it. He gave it away._

Rossi continued his trek to the kitchen and went about making coffee as quietly as he could. Then he made the long walk down his driveway to retrieve the newspaper. When he returned, he was startled to see his young friend pouring his favorite beverage into two large vessels.

Reid was equally startled to see Rossi.

"I hope you don't mind. I looked around and found the mugs."

"Not at all. Make yourself at home."

Reid's eyes roamed the kitchen, apparently searching for something he didn't see.

"Uh, Rossi?"

The BAU elder statesman pointed over his shoulder. "Third cabinet on the right. Spoons are in that drawer next to you. Cream is in the fridge."

"Thanks."

Rossi opened the paper, but his eyes were on Reid. Despite having heard the legend, he'd never actually seen the young man prepare his coffee.

 _One, two, three, four, five, six! Six!_

Reid felt the eyes on him, but misunderstood.

"I can take this with me and be out of your way in a minute."

"No need to rush. I'm already doing what I had planned for the day."

"Reading the paper?"

It was something _he_ would do. Well, not the newspaper, maybe. But spending a Saturday reading was exactly the type of schedule Reid liked to keep. He was just surprised to hear it from Rossi. He'd been under the impression that his senior colleague had a much fuller social calendar. Actually, he'd been under the impression that pretty much _everyone_ else had a much fuller social calendar.

The look of surprise on Reid's face made Rossi smile. _I guess we're both learning new things about one another._

"I consider myself a citizen of the world, Spencer. I like to keep up."

Reid sipped his coffee with great satisfaction. Apparently, David Rossi imported nothing but the best of everything.

"So do I. But, sometimes, I just prefer a book. Actually, pretty much _all_ the time, I prefer a book. With the news, it's all tragedy, and sometimes, it…sometimes it feels like too much. But, with a book, the tragedy is almost always mitigated with some kind of triumph."

The comment brought them both back to the night before, and to the tragedies that had befallen both the young genius and their unit chief. Rossi knew that it hadn't been the end of the story that had drawn their conversation to a finish last night, so much as it had been exhaustion. There was definitely more to be worked through.

 _Might as well get to it, while it's fresh._

" _Almost_ always. Sometimes stories in books still end in tragedy, don't they?"

Reid had to acknowledge it. "Sometimes. But, most of the time, even if he or she doesn't get a happy ending, the protagonist gains something… wisdom, maybe. Insight. Maturity."

Rossi nodded. "Something that makes the tragedy worthwhile."

The younger man qualified the statement. "Maybe not worthwhile, exactly. It's still tragedy, after all. Just…. something that gives it meaning. Something that makes it less senseless."

Rossi finally put the newspaper down. "The tragedies _we_ deal with are _all_ senseless. They're not some accident of nature or some illness that couldn't be prevented. They come from evil, perpetrated by one person against another. What is there to be gained from _that_?"

Reid stared at him. "You're talking about Hotch?"

Rossi toggled his head back and forth. "Maybe."

When he saw that his friend had gotten his meaning, he added, "Last night, you told me about some very difficult things, Spencer."

Reid gave a soft snort. "I'm a great example of 'nothing gained'."

It was precisely where their conversation of the night before had brought them. Reid's going right back to it served as confirmation to Rossi that they hadn't quite been finished.

"How so?"

Reid's brows went up. "How _not_ so? I let my life fall apart, and it still has repercussions, to this day." Lifting his cane as evidence.

Rossi pushed his mug aside and leaned in toward his companion.

"First of all, your story isn't exactly over, is it? I've got almost twice as much 'story' under my belt, and I'm not ready to call it anywhere near over. So how do you know what else you'll make of it? And secondly, what you went through…..what you're _still_ going through…" Acknowledging the cane, "….. hasn't exactly been without meaning."

Rossi's heart caught to see completely lost look on the younger man's face.

 _You really took it on the chin, didn't you? And it threw you so much that you truly can't see, genius be damned. So, I guess it's up to me._

"Spencer, answer this for me. Do you remember telling me why you think you're so good at finding empathy with our unsubs? Why, when the rest of us are moslty profiling their behavior, it's _you_ who really gets inside their heads to make some sense of it?"

Reid nodded. "Because I grew up with mental illness. It was like another person, living in the house with us. It doesn't frighten me anymore."

Rossi filed away the 'anymore', not wanting to risk the distraction of the image of a young, _frightened,_ Reid left alone with 'mental illness'.

"Exactly. You turned a tragedy into a tool, and you've been using it to help others for half a decade now."

The comment got under Reid's skin, much to Rossi's chagrin. "My mom isn't a 'tragedy'."

"No, no! I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. Your mother wrote the book on overcoming a tra…a challenge. Look at what she did, in the face of all odds. She produced a son in whom she fostered, not only his gifted intelligence, but his sense of honor, and altruism, and nobility."

Reid smirked at that. "My mother had another son?"

Rossi smiled. "You know who I'm talking about. You took a difficult childhood situation, and incorporated it to the point where you put it to use in the service of others. I'll remind you that I happen to know, first hand, that your mom is proud of you."

Reid's gaze fell, and his voice became barely audible. "I hope so."

"I _know_ so. As well she should be. And, since she's not here to say it, I guess I'll do it for her." He waited until the silence brought Reid's eyes back to his. "You stumbled, with Hankel, and after. Maybe you even fell. But you got back up, and dusted yourself off, and got back into the game. Sure, maybe you get a twinge now and then, from that old injury. But, take it from an old guy….twinges just remind you to be careful. So, you are….aren't you?"

"I'll never touch narcotics again."

"There. Exactly. But that's not quite going to cut it for this conversation. We were talking about making sense of tragedy. Are you still so sure you can't see the sense in this?" Thinking better of his wording. "Or…. Put it this way….. are you still so sure you haven't been able to give it meaning?"

Reid narrowed his eyes in concentration, but couldn't quite see past his self-loathing. So Rossi helped him.

"Do you remember that case we had in Pittsburgh, where that angel of death was killing people in support groups? Who broke that case?"

"I just…."

"You just put your personal experience to good use. How about that case in South Padre, where you recognized the kid with DID? Did you think that just came to you out of the blue?"

"No, it was ….. it felt familiar. Then I realized why."

Rossi nodded in encouragement. "And you retro-fitted his behavior and the case history to your theory, right? But you thought of it in the first place because…."

"Because I'd stared it in the face for almost three days."

There began a softening in Reid's features, a relaxation of tension, that heartened Rossi. He was getting through to the kid.

"You took something senseless, and gave it meaning by using it for good. You _did_ it. And you know how to keep on doing it. Listen, Spencer, we're all a compilation of our experiences. We all have regrets. You're looking at the master of those. But we have to keep moving forward….. thank God, we get the _chance_ to keep moving forward…. to turn those regrets around for good. In fact…."

Rossi put up a finger to indicate he would be right back, and walked off into his library. Reid had been hanging on every word, and barely moved a muscle until the older man returned, book in hand.

Rossi flipped through the volume to a dog-eared page. Then he held it up to show Reid the cover.

"The Confessions of St. Augustine?"

Rossi nodded. "Remember how I blew you away with Nietzsche? Well I'm about to do it again. What do you know about Augustine?"

"Not much, except for the book. I know some quotes, I guess."

"Okay, well, let this old altar boy fill you in. The man who came to be known as St. Augustine was anything but, in his youth. In fact, he was such a reprobate that his poor sainted mother _actually_ became one…..St. Monica. But then he went through a crisis of conscience and he turned his life around. But, when he did, he couldn't reconcile who he'd been with who he'd become. Until he realized this…."

Rossi looked for exactly the passage he'd remembered, and read it to his troubled friend.

' _Forgiveness is the remission of sins. For it is by this that what has been lost, and was found, is saved from being lost again_.'

Rossi closed the book and looked intently at Reid. "By your own description, you were lost for a time. But you found yourself."

"And I'll never lose myself again. But I can't….I can't…"

"You can. You _can_ , Spencer. And you need to. You need to _forgive_ yourself. Don't just be _aware_ of your failings, don't just avoid them in the future. Forgive yourself for having them in the first place. Forgive yourself for being human."

It felt like a crisis moment, as Reid stared at Rossi for a long time. Then, to the surprise and consternation of the older man, the younger began trembling. Then it was more than trembling. Reid began to visibly shake, with the depth of the struggle within him, and Rossi laid a hand on his arm to still him.

"Would it help to know that all I see…. all I've _ever_ seen…. Is an honorable man, putting himself on the line for other people, and trying his hardest to do one of the most difficult jobs in the world?"

Technically, it was true. Rossi might once have relegated Reid to 'the kingdom of the nerds', but he'd never doubted the young man's honor, nor his intentions.

Reid couldn't bring himself to speak. He simply looked at Rossi with pleading in his eyes.

 _I know I need to. I want to. But I'm not sure I can._

He didn't have to say it aloud. Rossi had been there, and still visited regularly.

"Listen, Kid, I know it's not easy. We're all harder on ourselves than we are on anyone else. But this has eaten at you for far too long. It will eat itself all the way through, unless you stop feeding it."

Reid nodded his agreement, but he still didn't quite know how to end the misery. He looked again for wisdom, as Rossi prayed that wisdom was what was about to issue from his mouth.

"How about this….can you do it just for today? You know the mantra, right? One day at a time? Do it just for today. Sure, you'll have to do it again tomorrow, and maybe again the next day, and the next. But it will take root, if you keep at it. It will start to come naturally. There will be new regrets, new things you'll wish you'd done differently. This old man can tell you that life never lets up in that respect. But, if you can conquer this, you'll know how to handle them. So, for just one day, I'm going to ask you to do something. For just one day, I'm going to ask you to see yourself as I see you. Just one day. Can you do that?"

Purposely withholding what that image was, lest Reid's state of mind cause him to reject the deal. Rossi would exact the promise first, and then delineate the terms.

Absent another choice, and desperate to avail himself of his older friend's wisdom, Reid gave a slow, uncertain nod.

"All right, then. For just one day, I want you to think of yourself as a dedicated, courageous, compassionate….and, yes, highly intelligent….young man, who has suffered more challenges than most young men his age. And I want you to remember that you have risen _above_ those challenges, and that you continue to rise above them, every day, day by day. I want you to see a man who Diana Reid is proud to call her son. And, for that matter, a man who David Rossi would be proud to call his son as well."

 _If only he'd been so blessed._

He'd gotten to Reid with the twelve step 'one day at a time' mantra, and he knew it. Rossi leaned back into his seat and waited for his friend to respond.

It hadn't been just the mantra that had gotten to Reid. It had been the unexpected expression of esteem from his senior colleague, and the inescapable fact of its sincerity. Even if he hadn't been a profiler, even if Rossi had been able to master his micro-expressions, Reid would have known. Rossi had meant what he'd said.

 _Every word. Even…_

It put definition to the feeling that had begun in him last night. That sense of something coming to fruition, an unacknowledged thirst being quenched. Paternal pride, not bought with a PhD, but freely bestowed, simply because of who he was.

David Rossi might never know what a gift he'd just given to Spencer Reid. He might not know what a gift he'd _become_ to Spencer Reid. But Reid had been gifted, nonetheless. In his gratitude, he could make only one response.

"I can do it. I _will_ do it. For one day….one day at a time."


	17. Chapter 17

_**Of Genius and Gentility**_

 _ **Chapter 17**_

He almost felt like he shouldn't be driving. Like he was intoxicated. High. Light.

 _That's the word. I feel 'light'. Like I'm floating, but still grounded. Still attached._

It was unlike almost anything he'd ever felt before.

A lightness of spirit had come over him in the past twenty-four hours. He'd shed something. Without intending to, without realizing it, he'd let something go. Released it. Been released.

 _Until he pulled it out of me, I didn't even realize how much it had been weighing me down. I guess I was just used to carrying the load._

It had become incorporated into him, a part of the persona of Spencer Reid. It made him wonder.

 _Did the others see the difference? Or did they think I was still the same person I'd been before?_

It wasn't the drugs, specifically. It was the guilt he'd carried, ever afterwards. The changed self-image, that had, from time to time, approached self-loathing.

They'd _all_ known about the drugs, he was sure of that, though it had never been, and would never be again, spoken aloud. He'd even told Morgan about the PTSD. And there had been many a time he'd bared his soul, as much as he'd dared, with JJ. The change in his self-image hadn't seemed to change either of those relationships, nor the one with Garcia. He'd been aware of the increased scrutiny coming from Hotch and Gideon, but they hadn't treated him differently, not after he'd stopped using.

Of all of them, it had been his relationship with Emily that had been the most severely jeopardized. It had been in its infancy during the time of his drug dependence, and it had very nearly not survived beyond that. But she'd recognized his struggle for control, and been mature about it, and supportive, in her own way. In time, they'd found their footing, and grown a deep friendship based on mutual respect, genuine affection, and a shared, closeted, and not so closeted, nerdism. But even his ability to form that friendship hadn't restored his better sense of self. It hadn't occurred to him that Emily Prentiss had still been able to see the man he'd always wished himself to be.

None of the others had spoken of it to him, that sense of being burdened. He was pretty sure JJ knew of it, because they'd been close both before and after. But he could only wonder at whether any of the others had sensed it. If they had, they might have misinterpreted it as part of his PTSD. But, for Reid, the experience of it had been very different.

He'd carried the knowledge of something that he found repulsive. It had nothing to do with the trauma imposed upon him. It had to do with something that had been unmasked. A core of decay, when he'd thought…he'd _aspired_ ….to hold a core of honor. He'd come to believe that he'd been a fraud, all along. That he'd misrepresented himself as good, and trustworthy. He'd come to wonder if all of those childhood bullies had been right about him, after all. That he'd _always_ been weak. That, perhaps, _their_ perception of him had been more accurate than that of his team.

Even the successful battling of his addiction hadn't repaired the damage to his self-esteem. After all, he'd reasoned, there would have been no need for withdrawal had he not given in to his weakness. If he'd stood strong, and faced his demons, he'd have been a fully functioning member of the team whose work, and friendships, he'd valued so highly.

But the words he'd heard this morning had called all of that into question. For most of the time he'd known Rossi….right up until the time when they'd started the book project, truthfully….Reid had been under the impression that the man considered him to be a necessary nuisance, tolerated for his intellect, but held at arm's length socially. But the past few months had begun to change that impression, and what had happened last night and this morning had put an end to it altogether.

Reid had never quite looked at Rossi as a mentor. That role had been served, officially, by Jason Gideon, and, de facto, by Aaron Hotchner. Rossi had been viewed more as a celebrity, not just because he'd actually become one, but because he was a vital part of the legend of the founding of the BAU. Reid was embarrassed to remember how much he'd acted more like a fan than a colleague, in the beginning. And Rossi hadn't exactly been immune to the adulation.

But they'd gradually developed a working relationship that managed to remain hierarchical while also being productive. That hierarchy was the reason why Reid had been so flattered and excited at having been invited to collaborate on Rossi's current manuscript. He'd been asked along on a great adventure, with a man he admired, and he'd been thrilled.

Poring over one draft after another was not most people's idea of fun. But the bibliophile Reid had been energized by it. He'd lapped up the stories themselves, and contributed enthusiastically to the vocabulary and style, even if he hadn't exactly brought the voice of youth to the enterprise. He'd enjoyed the conversations, and the dinners out, and even his first adventure with scotch whiskey. For those reasons alone, the collaboration would have been a great success, in Spencer Reid's eyes.

What he'd never seen coming….never even dreamed of, nor dared hope for….was the relationship. It had crept up on him, the true respect, and trust, and caring, and the mutuality of it. Once upon a time, speaking with David Rossi had been apt to leave Reid tongue-tied. But last night, and again this morning, he'd virtually laid himself bare before the man. It had never happened to him before, not with anyone. Not even with Morgan, who'd seen so much more of the unguarded Reid than had Gideon and Hotch combined.

 _It was like I_ had _to. Like I felt compelled. During this whole thing, he's shown me nothing but support and guidance, and I felt compelled to show him that he'd wasted it. That I wasn't worth it. I had to show him who I really was, because he obviously couldn't see it._

That was the most extraordinary thing about it. Reid hadn't confessed his sins to Rossi out of a need for forgiveness. He'd done it because he didn't think he _was_ forgivable, and he respected Rossi too much to go along with the charade. That Rossi had seen that, and called him out on it, had penetrated Reid to his core, gutted him. He'd been laid open, and Rossi had filled him up with the wisdom of age.

Leaving his car at the curb, Reid made his way up the stairs to his apartment, using his cane as sparingly as possible. If he was to keep his word to Rossi, he would have to let go of _all_ the things he'd come to lean on. He dropped his things on his desk and headed straight for the bathroom. He would need a mirror for what he was about to do.

He'd looked into that mirror every day he was home, for as long as he'd lived here. But all he'd ever really seen was the beard that needed to be shaved, and, occasionally, the hair that needed to be combed. This morning, he would force himself to look at the man.

It had happened before. _Then._ Back when he'd first come home with the dilaudid. He'd needed the mirror to redress the wound on the side of his head, and then he'd stood there, staring, not recognizing himself.

 _What did you do? Why? Who_ are _you?_

He'd known what he'd done. But he'd had not an answer for either of the other questions. And then the pain had risen, from the gash in his head, and from his broken feet, and from his psyche. And he'd taken the drug. From that tme forward, whenever he'd stood before the mirror, he'd looked only at the bristle on his chin and cheeks.

Until this moment. This moment, he looked into the mirror, and stared into the eyes of the man looking back. He flashed immediately on that day, years ago, when he'd last done the same thing, and he felt the loathing start to show itself. But he'd made a promise, and he intended to keep it. He'd done the steps before, he could do them again. So he closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them. This time he held the gaze of the man in the mirror, as his eidetic memory allowed him to pull up what Rossi had said to him, verbatim.

" _Would it help to know that all I see…. all I've_ ever _seen…. is an honorable man, putting himself on the line for other people, and trying his hardest to do one of the most difficult jobs in the world?"_

He'd been thrown by that, because Rossi had used the one word that had been Reid's personal mantra, until he'd lost it. One couldn't grow up with a professor of medieval literature without having the notion of honor ingrained in him. It had been at the heart of everything his mother had ever read to him, everything she'd taught him.

 _"For just one day, I want you to think of yourself as a dedicated, courageous, compassionate….and, yes, highly intelligent….young man, who has suffered more challenges than most young men his age. And I want you to remember that you have risen above those challenges, and that you continue to rise above them, every day, day by day. I want you to see a man who Diana Reid is proud to call her son. And, for that matter, a man who David Rossi would be proud to call_ his _son as well."_

Reid stared at his reflection for a long time, trying to infuse it with the courage, and compassion, and honor, that Rossi had called him to. Trying to _re-infuse_ it. Because, once upon a time, it had been his _own_ aspiration. Now, it was the aspiration of another, _for_ him.

It was the thing that had touched him so deeply. It wasn't a totally foreign idea, someone trying to bring out the best in him. His teachers had, of course. So had Gideon. But they had all focused on his intellect, and how it could be used. Hotch had tried to help him grow in other aspects of the work they did, like interviewing and communicating with the locals. His friends were all accepting and encouraging. But this was different.

His father had obviously not valued him enough to stick around, let alone encourage him. A digital scrapbook of his son's accomplishments was as much as William Reid had ever had to offer. His mother's instability had rendered her unable to express her love for him, as well as she might have wished. It had become something he'd had to remember, and try to hold on to, in the difficult times, rather than something that could sustain him through those times. And she'd been horrified the news that her son had taken a job working for the government.

None of them had, by inclination or circumstance, nurtured, encouraged, or aspired for the _person_ of Spencer Reid, not even the man himself, for the past few years. Not until today. Today, Rossi had expressed his own hope and desire for Reid, and it had brought about a new resolve in the younger man. What Reid hadn't been quite able to do for himself, he could do for someone else. He could work to meet someone _else's_ aspiration for him.

The BAU elder statesman's words had sparked another thought in Reid, and he shared it with his reflection.

 _Maybe I was looking at you all wrong, before. Back when I actually used to look at you. Maybe I was seeing only who I really wanted to see. Maybe I convinced myself that I was different. That I was good. Or maybe I just conflated 'good' with 'faultless'. I couldn't admit to my faults, because they would make me unlovable. Maybe I'd spent so much of my life trying to win the love of two people who just couldn't give it, and I couldn't see that it was them, and not me._

Unconsciously, the man in the mirror nodded. Reid realized, and chuckled.

 _Yep, that's me. The genius who knows everything but himself._

Reid leaned forward, inches from the surface, and captured his own gaze, and stared, long and deep.

 _You are a human being. You have weaknesses, but you are not weak. You have flaws, but you are not defective. You have faults, but you are honorable. You fell. You didn't jump. You tripped, and you fell, but you did not remain on the ground. You are respected by those you respect, loved by those you love, trusted by those you trust. All you need to do is remember that._

 _One day at a time._

* * *

David Rossi gave up on his fourth attempt to get through the newspaper, his Saturday morning routine hopelessly disrupted. No amount of international turmoil, nor DC gossip, nor even the outcome of last night's game with his beloved Cubs could keep his attention.

 _I've been with the team for three years now, and he's been going through this the whole time, and I didn't see it. Too busy sticking labels on him. Too busy keeping my distance. Too busy navel gazing, for that matter. Worrying about the next book, or the next deadline, or that unresolved case. Too self-absorbed to notice what was right in front of me. Maybe it's a good thing I never became a parent. Maybe I don't have it in me, to put someone else first. Maybe that's what the three women I married were trying to tell me._

He literally couldn't remember the last time he'd been this invested in someone else's life, unless it had been for that life that had lasted only a day. But something had awakened in him, and he was. He'd been touched by the young man's story, and his courage in telling it. Rossi's eyes had been opened, both to the true nature of Spencer Reid, and to his own foolishness in having avoided it for so long. He could only hope that his words of encouragement would serve as a form of atonement.

He began to wonder what else he'd missed, as he'd kept most of his new teammates at arm's length. When he'd come back to the BAU, it had been with a certain degree of celebrity, and hubris and, yes, entitlement, of which he was not proud. He'd been reserved, and been treated with such in return. Three years had done much to erode the barriers he'd erected, but he knew he still wasn't quite fully integrated with the rest.

 _And that, my friend, is your fault, not theirs. Fix it._

So he vowed that he would pay more attention, ask more questions, stick around for small talk. He would come out of his office more, and visit the bullpen. He would get to know his colleagues, and invite them to get to know him.

 _Warts and all._


	18. Chapter 18

**_A.N. When I started this story, I wasn't sure exactly what would happen in between, but I did know which words would close it. Thanks to all who have shared their thoughts, and reactions, and love for Spencer Reid._**

* * *

 _ **Of Genius and Gentility**_

 _ **Chapter 18**_

By Monday they'd been called out again, to a bizarre case. Women were being left in public places, oddly dressed and made up, looking almost doll-like. The most recent had been left on a carousel in the park. The profile oozed 'child' but they all deemed that impossible. Maybe child- _like_. Maybe female. Maybe not.

Something else was different as well, but this was a difference that normalized things. Reid appeared in the round table room without his cane, moving with only a small, but perceptible, limp.

"Yay!" JJ celebrated the sign of progress.

Morgan got up to slap his little brother on the back in congratulations, nearly knocking him over in the process.

"Morgan!" All three women cried out at once.

"Oops….my bad. Sorry, Kid. Don't want you falling on that pretty face."

Hotch felt a need to ask. "Are you sure you're ready?"

Reid brushed off their concern. "I have to start some time. It may as well be now. I'm just not used to it yet. I'll get there."

Rossi couldn't help but wonder if Hotch was right to worry, if Reid _was_ pushing himself too fast. Once upon a time, he imagined, the young man might have held on to the cane, using it as a tool to keep expectations low. A physical infirmity, trying to cover for the psychological one. But much had changed in the past few months, culminating in both physical and psychological healing. Neither process was complete, but they were both well underway.

Also changed was Rossi, who had undergone a sharpening of his vision, and gained a new understanding of his youngest colleague. What he once viewed as weakness, he now knew to be a façade of insecurity wrapped around a core of deep strength. Part of Reid's healing process would require him to accomplish a connection with that core, and a shedding of the façade. Losing the cane was a step in that direction. Even if Reid was pushing himself too fast, forcing his body to catch up to his recovering psyche, that wasn't something that warranted caution. It was something that warranted encouragement. And Rossi fully intended to deliver.

On the plane, he found the empty seat across from his target. As Rossi sat, Reid looked up from his book, a questioning look on his face.

"I heard from our editor. She's happy with the final few chapters we just sent in, and the publisher wants to go to print. So we need to schedule our little photo shoot."

Any new-found confidence drained immediately from Reid's face, and the young man gulped.

"Uh….couldn't you…..I mean, I only helped a little…..and they already know your face, and…"

Rossi suppressed a smile. "Nope. We did this together. We succeed together, or we go down together."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Reid's current coiffure didn't exactly meld with Rossi's sense of style, but the senior profiler was very much aware of the young man's appeal among the ladies….including the ones on the team. He'd long since considered the benefit of having Reid's face prominently displayed on the cover, and the very likely possibility of drawing a whole new audience to his books. In fact, he'd even thought to inquire about the possibility of moving the 'science fiction' section to another part of the bookstore, so that 'true crime' and 'romance' might be located more closely together.

"Sorry, Spencer. Price of fame." He waited a beat before adding a suggestion. "You could always pull the cane back out. You know, go for sympathy."

"No!" Then realizing both his vehemence and the circumstances of the cane, Reid apologized. "Sorry. I mean, it was an amazing gift, and I appreciated it. But… well, I think I let it inhibit me."

"Inhibit?"

"Yes. Don't get me wrong, it helped me when I needed it, and if I was going to have to lean on something, I'm glad I was able to lean in style…"

Looking to see if Rossi would smile, and satisfied when it happened.

"….But I think it might have kept me from pushing myself a little harder. I might have leaned on it for too long, and I was letting it limit me."

Rossi mused on how 187 IQ points could obscure one's personal insight. _He_ knew it hadn't been the cane limiting Reid. He could only wonder how long it would take Reid to figure it out as well. And he knew, instinctively, that it was something the young man would have to realize on his own, if there was to be any merit to it. So he held his tongue, and let Reid continue.

"Do you know that I hadn't even been to the park for months, until this morning? I used to stop by a lot, and catch a game of chess or two." He smiled to himself. "The kids always seemed to like it. But I didn't realize until today that they actually missed me."

It had been months, and hours of conversation, and yet this was a new revelation. Reid had told Rossi about the deepest, darkest secret of his past, and yet hadn't shared this little tidbit of the present.

"You teach the kids how to play chess?"

Reid shrugged it off. "Some of them are pretty good. I just help them advance their games a little. Kind of like Gideon did for me."

Rossi nodded at the obvious connection. "So you honor Gideon by doing the same for the kids in the park."

He was surprised at how long it took Reid to answer, and at the convoluted succession of expressions passing over the young man's features.

"Uh-oh. Did I touch a nerve?"

"Huh? Oh…..no. No, I just…. I was talking with one of the kids this morning. I told him how I'd tried to play every variation of move, in games against myself."

Rossi whistled. "You'll be an old man before you finish that, my friend."

Reid smiled. "I realized that. So I stopped, once I also realized something else." He shifted in his seat, striking what Rossi had come to think of as his professorial pose. "I realized that every game was the same, just like I told Gary, today. They all follow the same pattern, and they all lead to the same outcome."

Rossi wasn't buying that. "If that was true, what would be the point of playing? If the same person always won?"

The younger man nodded, enthused. "Exactly. Every game is the same, and they all have the same outcome, but the winner is different."

The thick Italians brows went up. "Explain, please, to this mere mortal."

The genius was happy to oblige. "It's like I told Gary, there's always the opening volley, and the patient midgame, and then one of a set of patterns that lead to victory."

"But not always by the same person," insisted Rossi.

"Exactly. Because, while the game is the same, the _players_ are different. That's why I couldn't solve it playing against myself. The players matter. Someone is more daring, someone else more timid. Someone is more patient, someone less. It's what Gideon got wrong."

"Gideon?" Not sure how his old friend and colleague had come into the conversation again.

"I told Gary that my friend had lost interest in the game, because he saw it as always the same. For a long time after Gideon left, I wondered if he was right. Maybe there _is_ no point to what we do, because there's always another one, and they always ruin lives, and we try to stop them, and then there's another one, and…."

Rossi got it now. "And there's no end in sight."

"Exactly."

"But you've decided that Gideon had it wrong?"

Surprised to find himself hanging on the answer. What had started as a simple conversation about a photograph had wandered into some deep territory.

"Gideon left because he didn't see the point anymore. He felt like he wasn't effective, like _we_ weren't effective. He left because he couldn't change the narrative, the evolution of the game."

Intrigued now, Rossi asked, "And you think he was wrong?"

Reid nodded. "He couldn't change the game, because _he_ was the constant. Just like I was, when I tried to play against myself. There were only so many ways I could change the game, because it was always me strategizing, on both sides of the board. Gideon had the same problem. He could only think the way he thought."

Rossi sat back and stared out the window for a bit, chewing on what Reid had said, not yet sure he was ready to digest it. Whether or not he'd intended it, Reid had hit upon Gideon's great shortcoming, something David Rossi had encountered several decades ago.

 _He wasn't a team player. He built a team around him, but he didn't use them, not really. Under the guise of teaching them, he imposed his own analysis onto every case. The kid's right. He really was the constant._

"So, you're saying that he left because he couldn't change the outcome of the game? That he didn't see his work as effective?"

Reid shook his head. "Not that, really. I mean, we _did_ have different outcomes, we did catch a lot of unsubs, and we even saved some victims."

"Some. But not enough?"

Reid shrugged. "I don't know. I think Gideon would say that we don't know how many we've saved, because we don't know what would have happened if we hadn't caught them when we did. But there was always another one. Always someone else getting ready to kill senselessly, or someone else already doing it."

"The neverending story."

"Something like that. I think it just got to him. He could only study the game…..and the unsubs…so much, without knowing the inevitable outcome."

"They kill. And, sometimes, we kill them."

Reid nodded. "But we don't have to. Not all the time. Maybe not even most of the time."

"And you don't think Gideon could see that?" Not so sure that he could, either.

Reid shifted in his seat, and stared for a long time out into the ether. Answering Rossi's question would mean admitting something that Reid had only barely admitted to himself. But he'd already trusted Rossi with so much more than this.

"I think Gideon studied unsubs, and their behavior. He tried to understand how they acted, and to predict their next moves. But it was rare when he tried to understand _them._ What they'd been through, how it had changed them, how they were feeling in the moment we encountered them."

"He had no empathy?"

"He feigned it, sometimes. Sometimes, he tried to sound sympathetic and understanding, and other times he challenged them outright. But he never _felt_ it. Not really."

Rossi studied his companion, and saw the earnest plea for understanding. It wasn't often one admitted one's hero had feet of clay.

Noting Reid's discomfort, Rossi tried to sound encouraging. "And you do. Right?"

"I try to. I think it's important. They've all still got some humanity in them."

"But, does it really matter that you play the game differently? If we still get the bad guy, what's the difference?"

The younger man tried to gather his thoughts into something articulable.

"I don't think I can explain it well enough, but I do think it matters. For Gideon, the game was always the same, because he was playing both sides…himself, and his analytical version of the unsubs. _He_ was the constant. But, when you approach the unsub with empathy….when you actually _achieve_ empathy…there are two playing the game. The game _changes_. Even if the outcome is the same, the _game_ changes. Maybe it's shorter, maybe it's less violent. It has a different dynamic."

 _Maybe we can save some of them._ Thinking of a frightened teenager, years ago, who'd tried to take his life rather than become a psychopath. Gideon had written him off. Reid had reached out.

Rossi stared a while longer. "So, what's the take home?"

"That we need to work differently with the unsubs. We need to try to relate with them, not just analyze their behaviors after the fact. We need to find the other side of them. If we do, the game will evolve. We'll learn. Even if we can't save _them_ , we might be able to interrupt the process in the next one. But only if we pool our efforts. We need all of us contributing to this. We need all of our life experiences, and all of our insights. We work best, and most effectively, as a team."

Rossi smiled, and chuckled softly to himself. _I coulda told you that, Kid. I just didn't know why._

"So, you learned all this from playing chess this morning."

"No, I learned it from playing chess by myself, for months. It just took a while to sink in. Besides, I didn't have time for a game this morning."

Feeling the need for caffeine, Rossi stood, patting Reid's knee as he did so.

"Tell you what. When we get back, why don't you _make_ some time for it? I have a feeling those chess kids need you."

* * *

Ultimately, they concluded that their unsub was a woman, who, to one degree or another was still embedded in her childhood, herself likely a victim, years ago. She was making dolls of _her_ victims. Perhaps she didn't even realize she was killing them.

Something in the profile obviously got to Reid. On the surface of it, maybe it was the fact of electroshock treatment administered to a child. But, hovering just beneath the surface, and beginning to erupt, was the fact that her father had been behind it. Yet another example of paternal betrayal of a child's trust.

It wasn't unusual for the young genius to assign himself a duty. In fact, he was often the first to volunteer to work the files, or the maps, taking on an unwanted task that he himself found intriguing. But it was highly unusual to hear him announcing his intention to interrogate a subject. Not volunteering. _Announcing._ Staking claim. All of the rest of them were caught off guard, including their unit chief, who raised a single brow, and then looked to his senior colleague.

"Take Rossi with you," Hotch said. Assigning Rossi the back-up role, not about to ask Reid to relinquish the lead he had so assertively claimed.

For his part, Rossi was glad to go along. There had been something different about the team dynamic throughout this case, and he was anxious to see it reach its denouement. Something about Reid, something about his demeanor, the way he was carrying himself, the swiftness of his thinking, the vehemence of his reaction, all of it had impacted his role in the case, and his relationship with the others. They nearly always _consulted_ their genius colleague, especially on obscure pieces of information. But, this case, they _deferred_ to him. Each of them had played a role in unraveling the story, and building the profile, but it had all been under the guiding hand of the youngest among them.

 _They see it too, and they're responding to it, even if they don't realize it._

Ironically, Reid was still moving with a limp, which might once have made him seem lesser, shaken his confidence. But, in the moment, it had the opposite effect. It gave him the appearance of one who knew how to operate in the face of adversity, of one who knew how to overcome.

 _Go for it, young man._

* * *

When they arrived at the psychiatry office of their suspected unsub's father, Rossi took the lead, but soon enough turned the reins over to Reid.

 _Scratch that. I just stepped out of the way before he ran me over._

The younger profiler started off with what sounded like an innocent question, about some toys on a shelf. But then he followed up, in rapid fire, with the same question, over and over again, each time about a new toy. It was a blatantly aggressive move, and Rossi began to feel a bit like Dr. Frankenstein.

 _Please don't tell me I've created a monster!_

The implication of Reid's interrogation was obvious….that the psychiatrist had used the toys in question as bribes, or rewards, for girls he'd molested, just as he'd done the same with his daughter, and a set of dolls that she was now trying to replicate, using human models.

Rossi thought Reid might have pushed too hard, and too pointedly, even threatening the man's career, when the psychiatrist ordered them out of his office. He was rehearsing a little speech for his young companion, when they both heard the doctor call them back. The man had, indeed, felt threatened. But he also felt guilty, as he was, and he was willing to cooperate in exchange for leniency. He gave away the location of his daughter.

As they traveled to the apartment where they hoped to find some of the potential victims alive, Rossi stole a glance at his companion in the passenger seat. Reid looked straight ahead, his gaze intense, his chin set, clearly preparing for what was to come.

 _He's getting inside her head. He hasn't even met her yet, but he's so sure of his profile, that he's using it to think like she thinks. He wants to relate to her. He wants to play her half of the game with her, because that might be the only way to save the others without hurting her._

Rossi put aside that little speech he'd planned to give. Maybe he should just let this play out. Maybe Spencer had a better handle on it than he realized.

When they arrived to the address, Rossi instinctively let Reid take the lead. He followed the younger man into the apartment, where both of them were taken aback. They'd profiled it, they should have known. But seeing it, seeing the reality of it, was still a shock. Adult human women, completely immobile, heavily made up and dressed in doll-like clothing, seated around a table for a child's tea party. And one more woman, also adult, this one moving, and speaking to her dolls in a way that made her developmental stasis obvious.

The two men made eye contact, and then Rossi nodded, and Reid moved into view, and gently called the woman's name. Frightened, and caught off guard, she made a move to threaten one of her human dolls. But Reid spoke to her gently, and assured her of her safety. He sympathized with the loss of her childhood companion dolls, and offered to restore them to her, and she ate it up. Thus, with nary a shot fired, nor a single movement of physical aggression, nor even a raised voice, their unsub was taken, and her victims saved.

Rossi was about to comment, when he realized that Reid wasn't quite satisfied. He watched as the young man squatted to achieve eye level with their adult-child unsub, and then listened as Reid earnestly promised her that she would keep her items of comfort. She would remain, forever, with the dolls she loved.

They'd already accomplished their task. The women were safe, the unsub in custody. And still, Reid had insisted on this extraordinary act of kindness.

 _He_ is _changing the narrative. Maybe not the outcomes, yet, but he's changing the narrative. Gideon never even saw that as possible. If I'm honest with myself, I probably didn't either, until today. I've seen him do it before, but I didn't get it. Now I know. And I want to know more._

An hour ago, Rossi had intended to give his junior colleague a little lecture on how things _should_ be done, on remembering his role, and not stepping out of it.

A few _months_ ago, he'd intended to give that same junior colleague an opportunity to learn from the master….about books, and profiling, and life.

 _Funny thing about that._

He hoped he _had_ imparted something to Reid. He hoped it was at least a fraction of what had been imparted to him. In the process of getting to know the young man, Rossi had gotten to know himself, just a little bit better. He'd lost that sense of stagnation, of already being whoever he was going to be. He'd regained a sense of _becoming_. And he was eager, once again, to see who, and what, he could become.

His young colleague was becoming, too. He'd left behind the role of protégé, no longer the exception to every FBI rule and requirement. He'd integrated the roles of mentee and mentor, and moved beyond, into a new identity. He was no longer a kid, no matter how many of them called him that. In fact, Rossi thought, it was time he called Reid something else.

So he turned to his colleague, and friend, and co-author, and co-traveler in life, and nodded his approval of what had just happened. And then he voiced it.

"Well done, Agent Reid."

 _ **FINIS**_


End file.
